


you're a star

by SNES



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Casual Sex, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Smut, Getting Together, Implied Relationships, M/M, McDonald's, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Pining, References to Addiction, Self-Denial, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Somewhat Reliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SNES/pseuds/SNES
Summary: Beneath the dregs of fleeting fascination— the big smiles and the big screens, the glitter and the glitz— darling actor Na Jaemin has always been the boy who lies to everyone.And, although he absolutely loathes the concept of playing roles, Lee Jeno copes with the inevitable, yet tragic fate of being the boy who lies to himself.PROMPT #203
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 120
Collections: NOMIN FIC FEST





	you're a star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liquorna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquorna/gifts).



> [THERES A PLAYLIST FOR THIS](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLf7Ze1pJW2ZMKqFns6EqQSSeKKEqPudBT)
> 
> T/W, THIS IS IMPORTANT::: drug use and (implied) drug addiction, some depressive dialogue, unhealthy thought processes, and massive, unsolicited heaps of self-doubt that will warrant u nothing else but an angstier experience
> 
> firstly, thank you to the prompter for the captivating prompt, and to the mods of this fic fest!! ngl this took on a world of its own, but its actually been a blast to write. ALSO i just really wanted to gift len something bc fuck yeah she deserves it and so much more and i love her and i hope u all like this needy eyes emoji <33333 
> 
> also, here's a fair warning: i know little to nothing about showbiz or actor lingo or even anything that goes on in a movie set, and although i can say ive done some p intensive research, in theory, im also very stupid so the research only partially counts. i tried to make the whole film-making aspect of the fic relatively vague, but im certain that as much as i bullshitted my way through this it still manages to be cohesive :'( i just hope i did the prompt some justice :'vv 
> 
> with that aside, enjoy the fic!! <3333 

The first time Jeno comes face to face with big-shot actor, nation's up-and-coming golden boy Na Jaemin is on the set of his first job in the film industry— _Never Change._

Sure. It's another stupid movie name he's heard at least 7 different alterations of before, but at this point in time, he's learned that any thing that's arguably and remotely stupid sells, so he won't bother.

On account of that, it's illegal that so far, the only thing Jeno knows about it is that it's initially a coming-of-age movie, and it probably involves more than the normal amount of teenage, gay or straight kissing, and an accompanying loom of dreadful, teenage-centric angst— typical staples in a _Na Jaemin_ movie, although Jeno's never really watched one long enough to get the overall gist. Maybe he has, but anyone (that would be Donghyuck, at best) who's had the privilege of knowing he only mustered the willpower to watch through was because Jaemin was _kind of pretty_ wouldn't let him live.

The rest of the crew and actors, as far as he knows, were probably already weeks into filming, and since Jeno's new (like, half-an-hour new), his anxiety over being thrusted into a new environment mostly speaks for itself _._ Renjun, a friend of a friend and a working publicist for the said film, had offered him a clean spot in the audio mixing and sound design department, under the condition of filling in for the gaps of those in the troublesome production department for when he's got the time. And because Jeno's a film school drop-out who's had a lot of time in his hands since having been jobless five months ago, he unwittingly took up the offer in the guise of needing _money, like, a lot of it._

Jeno doesn't know which part of the whole thing makes him feel like he's in a temporary pause, a hesitant faltering— jammed into the busy dealings of a major motion picture— like he's stuck inside one of those cozy cottages adorned over a snow globe, never to break free. For all the sudden bouts of realization it continued to take him, he's pretty sure, though, that it has something to do with Jaemin, and the way he walks into the studio that overcast Monday morning like he's well aware of the fact that all eyes are glued on him, like _that_ was the whole point— and Jeno had just figured it out.

And then, it's the way he eventually glances over to Jeno once, the way he smiles, sharply but sweetly, the way it sends Jeno straight into a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping whiplash, and the way it's every _little_ thing that begs to differ.

Jaemin continues to strut confidently around the studio, clad in a decent (expensive) fur coat that was obviously twice his size (an apparent revelation of his harbored love for the concept of fuzzy sweater paws) and a customized, crystal-studded (expensive) coffee tumbler propped gently on his right hand. Between his arms, he held enough boxes of presents _(expensive,_ Jeno recounts) to partially obscure his face and, seeing as no one's really reacting as exaggeratedly as he is, it seemed almost like a daily occurence.

Jeno can't see well through the fog that seeps over the cap of his morning coffee, but the hair in his arms brace up like little pinpricks on his skin as he struggles to maintain eye contact with Jaemin, who'd finally finished his dazzling walk of fame and had leaned against his reserved seat on the actor's on-set break room. Everyone moves across the studio, left and right in a frenzy, but Jeno stays still and lets the time screech to a hasty halt, glued to the crook of the break room's door that's least likely to provide anyone of the sense that he's snooping on Na Jaemin, or mindlessly drooling over his _as-seen-on-television_ perfection.

He isn't half as sneaky as he thinks he is, because as much as he hides from everyone else, Jaemin, of all people, had a pretty clear view of what his ass was up to. Jaemin stares and lets his shoulders fall slack against the stack of boxes he's still holding up. Two seconds later, the boxes of designer packaging cooped up in his fur-covered arms go flying straight to the trash bin beside his vanity mirror— then he chuckles, _apparently_ unfazed by how much a single item in those boxes could even cost. A few more seconds pass in an air of absolute graveness, and at that point Jeno was sure it wasn't just Jaemin trying to get a rise out of him.

Jeno's almost sure he gets like three looks of disdain (courtesy of his co-crew workers who unfortunately passed by) from the gasp he'd uncharacteristically let out. There's a brief moment where he stares, and Jaemin _maybe_ stares back, but Jeno couldn't tell over the shades he was wearing. Jeno cringes when he turns, and lets out a silent scream of disbelief when he starts to back away from the break room and power walk his way through the set hallway.

He caves in and breaks a nervous sweat. He had a pretty coherent sense of the fact that this was going to run in his mind for the rest of the afternoon, unless he finds someone to talk or scream about it to— and if he called, Donghyuck would say he's working, Mark wouldn't really care, and that's the greater half of his contact list that isn't his mother or the hotline of the pet store across his apartment. Right now, somehow, all he really has is Renjun, and fuck, it wouldn't take either of them nearly as much to admit that they're not even _that_ close.

"But I saw it with my own two eyes," he finds himself caving in and telling Renjun two hours later, anyway, with the ridiculous audacity to make it sound like it was drastic, like it was a ghost encounter, and not like it was Jaemin throwing a shit-ton's worth of a thousand-something bucks down the trash bin and acting like he didn't really care whether or not, as he adds, "... _that bag was Hermes."_

Renjun pats him emphatically on the shoulder, and his hands linger, and then suddenly his grip was dead tight. "What'd you expect?" He huffs. "He's an actor. An _A-list_ witch bitch, Jeno. He doesn't need all that shit."

"He doesn't need to trash them, either." Jeno snarls through his frown. "He doesn't need to be so cocky, you know. About the fact that he _can."_

"What?" Renjun tilts his head in confusion. "Did it offend you?"

"Fuck, I don't know." Jeno shakes his head, although he's lying. "It's insufferable, and insensitive, and, well— _alright_ , offensive. It's like he was saying, _blah, dude. I'm so rich. Blah. I get expensive gifts from expensive suitors. Blah. I do this everyday, get over it."_

"Maybe that's the whole point, Jen. Maybe you're just overwhelmed." He says in dawning certainty, pivoting to the opposite direction on his heel, leaving Jeno to bask in his puzzled disposition when he says, "Whatever it is, take your own fucking word, and maybe get over it."

As soon as Jeno grasps it, he mentally slaps himself.

Renjun was right, it was _that_ simple, _that_ easy. His predestined, perpetual state of awe, and the force that practically had him in curious, starstricken shackles wasn't supposed to win him over; it's not what he's here for, in the first place. He's supposed to be working— doing his actual fucking job, getting cushy salary and making fucking profit. For all it's worth, he's not supposed to act like he's in a goddamn movie, where now's the part he probably deals with an untimely internal crisis while the soundtrack to his cheesy teenage high school romance plays in the background—

—But because he's an idiot, and because he still is, and because everything else has felt so _fucking_ unreal anyway, he's going to think digging into that garbage bin that's practically a makeshift treasure chest for no concise reason is going to be worth losing his job.

So, without much or any thought at all, he tells himself, _whatever, fuck it, cheesy, stupid teenage high school movie moment,_ and does just that.

In a chagrined attempt to investigate, he eventually returns to the actors' break room, and finds out that the gifts in the trash bin cost significantly more than his life savings— and then he didn't know what to do about that information, except maybe cry. As a grown man and a _finally_ working adult it would be hard to say he wouldn't, because the past five months he had to settle with crashing at Donghyuck's place and hearing him rant about making minimum wage really took a toll on him by making him emotional over anything that's over or about money.

In a split-second he stares numbly at the bin, imagines an odd, victorious ding in his head— the kind that plays when he hits jackpot in a tacky video game. His mind is in a lapse of horrible ideas he may or may not entertain in that moment, so it hasn't entirely occured to him that Jaemin— the A-list witch bitch himself— was already in the room, there, standing behind him, and when he idly taps Jeno on the shoulder, all Jeno can think of when he turns around and topples over until his back thuds against the wall, in capital fucking letters, is _RUN._

"Hello? Yeah, hey. Stop rummaging through my shit." Jaemin flares and clicks his tongue, but, by some inexplicable predicament, he's not anywhere near intimidating. "My trash bin isn't a clearance sale."

Jeno pauses to steel himself, to gaze at Jaemin nervously. "No, it's not." He shakes his head to save face. "At, like, fifty grand, I'd say it's hardly."

"Do I know you, even?" Jaemin crinkles his nose, then smirks, his breath puffing. "Give me your name."

"Jeno." Jeno says. "I'm Lee Jeno. I'm— first of all, hey. I'm new here." Then, he croaks. "You, uh, you probably won't ask me if I know _you_."

"Okay, excuse you, Jeno," He manages an irritated smile. "Leave my trash can alone, please."

He should, which is why it weirds him out that he hasn't dashed his way to the other side of the building yet.

"Look. And I mean look at all this shit." Jeno starts, well invested in his attempt to prove a point to someone who probably wouldn't let him have it. He gestures his head toward the trash bin. "Whoever gifted you, let's say, that _really_ expensive watch— they must like you a lot."

"I don't know about that. He said, _just take it_." Jaemin recounts immediately, his pinkies perking up when he raises his hand against his chest. "He didn't tell me what to do with it once I did."

Jeno gulps, slow. "So, you throw it in the trash?"

"So I throw it in the trash." He says, blankly. "Like I do. _Every. Single. Day."_ Jeno can sense he's joking, or at least he wishes he was. Jaemin doesn't even budge, and he only chuckles grimly as he watches Jeno slowly pace back in surrender— like he's already trying to erase their latest conversation from his brain. He guesses it's unfortunately comprehensible to react this way. After all, this is the first time he's had to deal with anyone remotely famous, or rich as all fuck, and the most he has to take out of it in the end is the fact that he's not even sure what to feel.

He pinches himself. That was _that_. It was so much for the urgency, his need to project some form of histrionic artifice and to fulfill his own cheesy teenage high school movie moment like he's figuratively ever going to be anything other than the weirdly relatable guy who plays the weirdly relatable janitor, at best. He's got no time to hiss in pain at the burn, though, because he's thinking of something else.

 _Na, fucking, Jaemin—_ Jeno muses on his short walk away from the boy in question— he's encapsulating, for damn sure, but it has little to nothing to do with the fact that he's glamorous, or pretty, in an unworldly sense, even with the pimple on his cheek or the obvious chapped marks on his lips— or the fact that he was Jeno's type, and that if Jaemin wasn't a standard face on the billboards, or someone who had a whopping net worth more than that of Jeno's whole bloodline, he'd have already offered to buy him a cup of coffee, stay over for a little chat, overshare his humble, ironically crushed dreams and kiss him softly on his lips on their busy road ahead, to their respective lives, like a promise to find their way back to each other in the moments that await.

Somewhere in the middle of that epiphany, Jeno catches on to the fact that, of course, he's lying. Mostly to himself. Because the only reason Jaemin could possibly be encapsulating in the romantic sense is _exactly_ because he's Jeno's type.

But no one has to know that.

 _Well, fuck,_ is what it all simmers down to _._ He thinks about how many degrees of his stupidity it can explicitly define, and curses it under his breath over and over and over until it dawns on him that he is, in fact, fucked. And he's not sure, for better or for worse, if that's a good thing or a bad thing. He's not sure what to make of it, not sure what to do, not sure what would come out of not knowing what to do, and in that moment, nothing in the world mattered more than what he finally figured out.

It's when he realizes, this is in his decision to live fast and die young. It was the job, and _only_ the job, at first, but now it's something else. One look back at Jaemin, who stares and chuckles back at him like he knows as much, tells Jeno that death might just be what he signed up for.

☆☆☆

It was inarguably the worst of times.

Jeno wishes that wasn't all there was to it, but the next morning, the same things occur in haste like an endless dream loop— right on time, Jaemin struts over the studio, gifts in hand; he throws them down his trash can as soon as he arrives— already, Jeno thinks there's the slightest possibility he could get used to this. Right now it worsens the abyssal curl in his stomach he still can't name, but, in his attempt to make it all seem more optimistic, it doesn't make him wish he was dead.

It all goes to shit, though, when Jeno haplessly returns to his work desk to a small black box with a sloppy gift-wrapping job of sleek, gold and blue patterns plastered all over it.

In his surprise, he scoops it up with his right hand to scrutinize the inner contents, ripping and tearing through the wrapper with an effective amount of care to make it seem like he's detonating a bomb. There's a clumsy strike-through of Jaemin's name embossed on the lid of the box that peeks out, and Jeno's name written on top of it in a lame attempt at fancy cursive. Jeno almost pitches the box over the glass surrounding the recording studio in sheer fear alone. It manages to grapple a few irritated glares.

"Is that a bomb?" Jeno earns a questioning look from Chenle, the other sound department guy who passes by. He only shrugs back, weighing out whether or not he should be glad if it ended up being something else other than what he'd nervously anticipated, even if it did end up being, as climactic and anti-climactic as it is, a fucking bomb.

Jeno sighs as he carefully, slowly opens the box, only for him to immediately close it back again— at the same time he does this, he squeezes his eyes shut and mumbles incoherently. By then, everyone was looking at him with unnerving intrigue. _Rookie mistake,_ he soon realizes. He shouldn't be gathering _this_ much attention.

"Well, what is it?" Chenle asks, and it takes Jeno all the air in his lungs he's breathed since morning just to spit it out.

"... It's _Tag Heuer."_ He finally says, in relief, but mostly terror, like it's worse that he hasn't just been bombed then and there. This was just as bad as a bomb, and Jeno's as good as done for, and as soon as he says it everyone in the sound department gasps in simultaneous shock, and Jeno draws the conclusion easily enough— and it's that he's truly, _truly_ fucked for this.

_(He does this, and for why?_ Jeno anxiously asks himself, because Jaemin does this, and for _fucking_ why.

Jeno's not going to beat around the bush. If anything, he's positively aware that Jaemin might have just done it to mess with him, and that he was expecting _That Wristwatch (yes,_ it's trademarked now) to be returned to him as soon as the joke was over, with a _please_ and a _thank you_ and a _sorry I have to ask you to_ _leave me alone now_ , so he could throw it down his trash bin again—but it was common knowledge for anyone who's known and been with Jeno for approximately 2 seconds that he was the world's worst overthinker, and his duty as such entailed him to a life where he never got so much as an ounce of decisiveness in anything. It's only fair for him to think he's not being absolutely ridiculous over his troubled, Jaemin-centric internal crisis, because he's not the rich asshole bitch (with dawning emphasis) who purposely meant for it all to happen in the first place.

Of all the times he'd been even a little bit certain, though, he was absolutely sure of this: Jaemin didn't just press all of his buttons wrong, he _meant_ to.)

"But it could have been for anyone." He tells Renjun over lunch, over the crisp sound of _Pop Tarts_ bits that emerge from his mouth while he chews on them mindlessly. Renjun turns back to look at him with obvious distaste, his expression screaming something along the lines of wanting to screw Jeno's mouth tight shut if he doesn't stop chewing and speaking at the same time.

"Dumbass." He mumbles, apologetically. "It couldn't have been if it was on your table and your name was written on it."

"Why would he leave that on my table? How would he even know that's my table?" Renjun looks at him judgingly, as if he had a knack for cracking the case— that he so obviously didn't want to entertain at the moment. Jeno only huffs. "When I said what I said yesterday I didn't mean I _wanted_ it."

"But he wouldn't know that." Renjun immediately adds, gesturing his hand to assert his point. "What's the first thing that comes to mind when you find someone snooping through your Gucci garbage?"

"Uh," He nods slowly, a sonic actualization building up within him. Renjun had a point, he always does, but in lieu of applauding that, Jeno groans and says, "I— I don't have Gucci garbage."

"The thing is, a movie set isn't the right place to show off your hots as a dumpster diver." Renjun huffs and rolls his eyes so far back that it was telling. "What the fuck were you trying to prove by doing that anyway?"

"I wasn't trying to prove a damn thing." He explains, impulsively. With an even faster surge of impulse coarsing through his veins, he continues, but what he says kind of beats the truth out of his chest. "I was just— I wanted to know what fascinates him, I guess." He says, and then Renjun blinks in realization as Jeno tactlessly purges the rest of his sentences out, like he's just as surprised, just as gassed up by his own disbelief. "I want to know him like I _know_ him. That's— true. Plain and simple."

"Well." Renjun's mouth falls, and he swears, like he's thinking, _where the fuck did all that shit come from?_ "You're a cheesy piece of shit."

And he's right. But Jeno's quick to retort his own point, because as soon as he says it he follows up sharply with, "But I'm as good as hopeless. Obviously."

"And why the hell is that?" Renjun croaks, appalled.

"Because he's famous, dude." And it was true. "You get what I mean."

"But we don't really know him to know what he wants." That was true, too. "Right?"

"Exactly." He somewhat nods along. _Exactly._ Jeno thinks it's just the right pass for him to start hoping things go his way, and when it doesn't, it doesn't make him feel down, either. It just terrifies him, maybe, to grapple the moon for someone who was looking for the stars, and that he doesn't know exactly how this is supposed to go, just that, whatever route it decides to take, it's not going to end up being him and Jaemin. And then that realization, to no one's surprise, makes him hopeless, but it teeters on neutral more than it does on pessimistic.

Then again, if Jaemin left _That Box_ on Jeno's desk for Jeno to find, he could give himself the liberty of thinking it could work. It was bad that the romantic kind of yearning always had him on his knees. He was in a different realm, per se, and in that realm he and Jaemin were together, and maybe Jeno could think of having been gifted _An Unnecessarily Expensive Watch_ as something that's exactly what it is and exactly what it should be. It's a false world, in his dreams, in another lifetime; initially, it's anywhere else but here, where it's all real, where the threat of impending heartbreak is cruel, and where it chases after him like the fucking asshole that it is.

But, maybe, in a sick, but possible turn of events, reality would have a better plan for him. Jaemin could look his way and think he's worth the entertainment. He could still anticipate less unfortunate things, but not too much that he's staking something in the process— which is ridiculous to think now, considering his heart's probably been on the line since Day 1, and he's just never feared it enough to actually acknowledge it. Now, he asks himself: How is he going to make Jaemin look his way? When's he's too far up and Jeno's got nothing but hope on his hands?

Jeno crosses his fingers and shakes away the voice in his head, replacing it with the mantra of the only rational thing that manages to cross his mind in that moment: _Only time will tell._

☆☆☆

Then, Jeno finds out way too soon that fate is quick to turn the tables on him.

It wasn't climactic at all, which doesn't relieve him more than it infuriates him, either way. He gives himself plus points for predictability, because _at least_ he knew this was coming— just not like this, like fate didn't even try to be nice to him by making him wait it out for a few days before it decides it's never too early to ruin his life.

He almost hears a pseudo-laugh track play somewhere in the distance because of this ridiculous, sitcom-worthy turn of events. Even heaven must think this is the shit— already running on several cruelly invested replays over their holy ass popcorn, absolute, comedy _fucking_ gold, and Jeno's kind of too hurt to even feel bad about that realization. He should feel ecstatic, to be honest, just not at the fact that this counts as the only time he's ever been God's favorite.

Otherwise, everything else has unsurprisingly been more shitty than they could've been.

The sight that beholds Jeno later that night, exactly five hours after his hope-addled epiphany of sorts, was insufferable. It was impossible to stomach, despite being almost comical. And just around two measly bases away from being the final straw before he calls it quits.

Specifically, it was having to spot Jaemin leaving the set with his co-star Yukhei in a rush, his hands wrapped as tight as they could be around the other's arms as they swiftly exit the building. Jeno's lucky he'd been neglecting his shift since an hour ago, even luckier because no one actually cares that he's gone— but all of that luck goes down the drain as soon as Jaemin and Yukhei walk past him to discreetly saunter their way to the set's parking lot.

He thinks twice about turning away and pretending he didn't see that, but _of course_ he saw that, and it comes to no surprise that he's seething his brains off in the aftermath, on the bench right next to the exit door because, he sighs and curses, _why the fuck did I have to see that?_

"Hey," Jeno jumps against his seat at the voice that spills from behind him. He turns his head to look, and finds that it was Renjun, who was raising his eyebrows in a fair indication of a question. "Going home?" He asks.

Jeno only shrugs nervously; and then they're silent. It's not silent enough for either of them to miss the mutual understanding of what's happening in around a meter-something distance from them, and not silent enough for them to wish they could both pretend they can shut up about it. Jeno had no say in what he had to see. It's twice as nerve-wracking for him to admit he didn't even feel like it was real.

"Chill." Renjun just says, like he knew. "I'm here for a smoke." He sits idly beside Jeno and lights his cig soon after, straightening himself as he sighs and stares forward, in the direction of Yukhei's car. They're awkward for a good moment, and Jeno takes it as his cue to string his words together and get a hold of himself.

"Say," Jeno muses, and gestures his head towards the car, fearful. "Are they, like, together?"

"Jaemin's a sweetheart." Renjun says, instead. He looks up and taps a finger against his own cheek, as if out of contemplation. "He just lets everyone in."

"And?" Jeno tilts his head. "What does that have to do with my question?"

"Well, I'd say that guy's just a good fuck—" Renjun coughs in stunted reiteration, the shocking sound of Yukhei's car thumping wildly and the crash of muted moans in the distance making both his and Jeno's faces shoot up and flush in realization. "—A _really great_ fuck."

"Oh my _God."_ Jeno cringes, alternates between looking at Renjun and turning back to dwell in the crude— if not completely vulgar— mix of sounds that continue to intensify with each passing second. It's not even weeks into his new job, and, already, he thinks this is the least he has to deal with. He perks up in shock, reorienting himself when he tactlessly bites back with, "I assume you think everything before and after sex is just bleak."

"I don't assume anything. The industry practically speaks for itself." Renjun states, blank. "And it's showbiz, really, that's all there is to say," He finally, brutally deadpans, leaving Jeno dumbfounded, struck by the thought of what that could entail. "It happens."

"You mean, what, car sex?" He responds vaguely, in an obvious attempt to mask his confusion.

"Yeah, I mean car sex with co-actors you'd only be down to shag, maybe cop a few expensive gifts from, and nothing more." Renjun makes a gesture, as if meaning to stop there, but he continues, "And a lot of other things."

"Oh," At this point Jeno doesn't really know what to say or where to look anymore. He looks down to fiddle with his thumbs, hoping the conversation ends there— even though he knows there's somewhere more this could've gone. It's going to hurt him to dig deeper, so he doesn't.

"God, the only tolerable presence on set is a dumbass." Renjun huffs out a string of cigarette smoke, and it wafts through the air like a seething breath of anger. "You see what I have to deal with? Do you _see_ why I hate this job?"

"I think." He says, but they're both thinking of very different things. Renjun swings well enough as his sheer voice of reason, but Jeno knows too well he shouldn't even be dragging him into this. Renjun seems to have his own personal agenda, if Jeno was being honest, but only because he's the same as Jeno in the sense that he's keeping a closer eye on Jaemin than he should.

They both pounce up in shock again when a throaty gasp— Jaemin's finishing moan— resounds through the air, followed by a long stretch of seconds, breathy voices and leather shuffles over the unnerving silence.

Jeno freezes as soon as the window of the passenger seat rolls down midway, and lands himself a deeper encounter with peril when he sees Jaemin, peeking at him, naked (as Jeno assumes) from the neck down, with a cigarette pinned over his lips and an uncanny, hazy smile on his pretty face, his hair flounced in a shaggy, indecent volume as Yukhei revs his car up, leaving Jeno literally and metaphorically floating through the screeches of their exit tracks when they finally speed off the parking lot.

"Did you see that?" Jeno says, in nervous fascination. "He was smiling at me," He sputters in the afterglow, wishing it was some sort of a sick joke. He chooses to reiterate when Renjun doesn't respond. "Or, you— probably. I don't know. What the— Renjun, did you see? He was—"

"He was smiling at you." Renjun spits out incredulously, his jaw agape. "I don't think you should be ecstatic about that."

"Not even a little?" He utters irritably, but all Renjun does is raise his brow and shake his head no, man— just, no, fuck no, until Jeno gets the memo and mumbles, _"Oh."_

He wishes he could drown his ears and his eyes in bleach and forget he even took the job like two days ago, but in his sick realm of subconsciously existent, Jaemin-related fantasies, he imagines he's Yukhei and— curse his _film plot-esque_ train of thought— he and Jaemin are highschool lovers, blasting songs from _Radiator Hospital's_ albums as they drive home from a party, where they'd made love in their friend's creaky, twin-sized bed, the half-dead daisies from the vase on the nightstand pinned over Jaemin's ears as he moaned a little shyly, and— suddenly, what's unbearable doesn't seem all that bad anymore.

Except it still is, for all the misery it's worth, when he realizes none of the shit he thought about was real. And now, he might really need to drown his ears, if not his whole being, inclusive of his spirit and soul, in—

 _"Clorox,"_ chokes Jeno. "Fuck it. We need some fucking Clorox."

Renjun leans back and looks at him in shattering, relatable surrender.

"You just read my mind," he mutters.

☆☆☆

It _definitely_ didn't mean anything, but, for the most part, it's what Jeno wills himself to believe.

Days pass by like cruel clockwork, and yet at the end of almost every single day he grinds his ass off, all Jeno can find himself thinking of is _that_ smile. It exists in the peripherals of his vision, quite literally haunts him like the spirit of his film set past— the kind of thing he'd get shivers over when he's old and sitting on a rocking chair at his front porch while he waits for the goddamn paint on the fence to dry.

The following afternoons of filming weren't particularly bad, so far. Jeno was finally on the 7th day of his insurmountably insufferable job, and everything was just starting to feel like a bearable routine, if not for Jaemin. Even Yukhei, some days. It stabs him that there are more instances he catches Yukhei and Jaemin giving each other some than instances Jeno gets to watch them do it in actual filming, and, in Renjun's words, it's almost always that he repeats it to himself: _"Isn't that just telling?"_

It's not telling him much, he thinks in response, but it tells him enough. By all unfortunate means, _enough_ is backing off, and giving his goddamn heart a break, because even if there was no measuring to how much Jaemin was taking their fling of sorts seriously, and even if he's got massive, worrisome and potentially brain damaging self-doubt (which presents its self at the worst of times), it still hurts Jeno to think about— even when it shouldn't. Especially not when he walks into the set every morning and it's the first thing he picks up from a drawer full of thoughts, just Jaemin, and now Yukhei, and now how unfair it is that he's fallen for a man who probably wouldn't remember him as anything more than the guy who went insane over the sight of his trash bin— _laughing stock,_ at the very least.

Jeno sighs over a few courteous greetings, shuffling his way through a hall full of people he could barely recognize even if he hadn't been fixated on how shitty his coffee tastes after he forgot to douse in his creamer. This was hardly anything substantial to his day now, when at first it had stressed him out, and it was a whole lot more relieving—

—but not until he spots Jaemin, fifteen minutes earlier than he should be and from about a meter far. Immediately, Jeno's first instinct is to turn back, run, bolt himself to his fucking car, speed away and think about signing that resignation letter in his dashboard cabinet that he's had prepared way before he even started the job.

He doesn't think he hears it right when he's struck by an audible shove, but he shakes his head back to reality and wishes he hadn't when he sees Jaemin, _angry,_ and very clearly shouting at an innocent worker with the words, "Jesus, get off of me!"

Jeno intervenes, swarming in just as Jaemin was about to knock the makeup artist away. "Whoa, hey," they stare heatedly at each other, but Jeno bears Jaemin's glares enough to nervously say, _"The fuck?"_

"Isn't it too early for her to be dabbing that stupid makeup brush on my face?" Jaemin snarls, his eyebrows raised in irritance.

"I think you have a scene in, like, thirty minutes." Jeno mumbles calmly, his arm still held out protectively over Jaemin's frame. "And whatever ruined the shit out of your day, she had nothing to do with it."

Jaemin hesitantly looks down, his eyes narrowing at the same time his brows soften slowly. He blinks twice, and tells Jeno, "You're not wearing it."

Jeno tilts his head unsurely, breathing out a throaty, confused sound when he looks down at where Jaemin was staring— his wrist. "What?" He blushes, and asks, and then Jaemin clicks his tongue.

"Fuck," Jaemin says, huffing when he turns away. "Forget it." An aura of gloom wraps over him as soon as he's got his back turned at Jeno, and he looks sort of defeated when he starts to walk. It leaves Jeno stupefied, enough that it stops him from almost reaching out and asking if there was something wrong. He hasn't dealt with an encounter with Jaemin where he was certain there _was,_ and he doesn't think he can ever explain why.

It doesn't prove to be a problem until hours later, when Jeno's practically lounging his ass off at the sound department just moments before Renjun barges in through the door and announces, "We have a problem."

"It's the vending machine, isn't it?" Jisung energetically muses from the corner sofa, where he was sitting with Chenle. "We talked about this. I never got my _Froot Loops_ from three days ago. Renjun, I keep telling you that shit's rigged!"

"It's not the vending machine, Jisung, fuck's sake." He sighs against his clipboard, obviously distressed. He heaves in a good amount of air before puffing it back out and saying, "It's Jaemin."

It's all it takes for the whole room to fall silent, shockingly enough. Jeno looks around in unease, not wanting to be the first one to ask what's going on, but he gives in. "Jaemin?"

"Yeah," Renjun says. _"Again."_

"Again?" He sits up straighter, thinking, in a fit of piled-up fear: _has this happened before?_

As it turns out, it _has_ happened before, which puts the whole situation in an entirely different perspective. Jeno turns his head here and there as Renjun leads them down the hall, and he finds that there are workers who've duly packed up, and those that are calling home to say they're probably leaving work early. The set is a mess in the most coordinated way possible, if Jeno had a say in this. He's anxious, and it throws him off to realize half the people here might not even give a shit about Jaemin, and to know it's probably because they've dealt with this some other time to know it's nothing grave. Jeno doesn't think he can tell the difference, because otherwise he'd flip hell over to help Jaemin, whether or not there was even something happening to him.

What he finds after that tedious stroll down the hall is the director and Yukhei, who was cooped up on the wall a couple of steps away from the actors' break room. "Where's Jaemin?" Jeno doesn't waste a second to ask, and it takes a couple of judging looks for him to waver.

"He's holding back taping." Yukhei sighs, and points his finger towards the break room's door. "The last time this happened, crew got sent home early." He vividly recounts. "It was lit."

Jeno turns to Renjun, who was busy hiding his face behind his measly clipboard. "Isn't anyone worried he could be opening up a new dimension in there?" He asks.

"No one's worried enough to stop him," Yukhei answers for him, sounding like he's given up— but there's worry there, too.

"He didn't ask you," Renjun distastefully bites back, half of his face still purposely obscured by the clipboard.

They exchange heated glares, and Jeno almost wishes he'd been air if it meant he didn't have to be in the middle of all the tension. Yukhei lets out a sigh and turns to look at Jeno. He mutters, "I'm just saying, give him some space."

Jeno's mouth falls as he fails to register the cloud of indifference. "But if he didn't actually lock himself in there— I mean, if the door's open—"

"Then it's everyone's lucky day!" Yukhei chortles, his hands clapping together in reiteration. Jeno gets the slightest sense he's hiding something, and if he were dumb as hell he wouldn't have known it was Yukhei trying to protect Jaemin, and no, he doesn't want to think about _that._ "This is in all seriousness, man. I wouldn't try it, even if I wore a metal armor and had a sword on. It's dangerous territory, even for me."

 _As if fucking him silly in your car wasn't dangerous enough,_ Jeno rolls his eyes, trying to find anyone who would willingly side with him, to no avail. "Don't be assholes. Right, no one gets paid enough to have to deal with this shit, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't do something." He says, huffing as he walks forward and nearly topples over Yukhei's legs. Then, he suddenly feels something strong, a hand gripping the life out of his arms— all while the weight of someone standing up starts dragging him down more than a little.

"Listen, you don't know what he's doing in there. Chances are, it's nothing good." Yukhei doesn't let go of him then, but it sounds like fair warning enough, like he's genuinely concerned. His voice is nowhere over a whisper, which makes it harder for Jeno to reconsider. "I'm looking out for you and him. You could end up jobless, after this."

Jeno only shakes his head when he turns, and he mumbles, "Then it's a good thing it's not anything to lose."

Yukhei's face softens, and so does his grip. As soon as Jeno's given the opportunity to escape, he pulls himself out and yanks his arm away to make a run for it, trudges through the set hallway with a heavy surge of something that's not entirely bravery.

When Jeno finally stands by the door of the backroom, he heaves out a sharp breath and reaches for the doorknob. He makes a mental prayer before he tests the waters, and when the door miraculously clicks open, he pushes through, his nerves spiking high with adrenaline and fear.

"Jaemin," he starts, and then he jolts back at the sight that greets him, his whole body flinching impossibly still. "Shit." He mutters, and then he says it again, _"Shit,_ Jaemin," out of disbelief.

A sick feeling overwhelms him. As soon as he opens the door, it's clear, sharper. Jaemin flinches to look at him in a shocked daze, the rim of his eyes red from a buzz of something that Jeno isn't sure he'd want to name. A portion of white dust ends up sprinkling over the floor, and Jeno actually mistakes it for sugar before he unwittingly, _stupidly_ remembers where he is.

The apology in Jaemin's eyes makes it even clearer that he's done this, not just today, or yesterday, or the day before. Jeno can't get away with the excuse of walking out, of being oblivious; this was real, and it was happening right in front of him, and he wonders if by _it's showbiz_ and _it happens_ , Renjun meant someone could be just as unaware of how meddling with such dangers could dawn over them and kill them from the inside out. Beyond the obvious aspect of all this shit passing off as completely normal, it was unspoken, the fact that no one could get away with it— not if it was just anyone, especially not if it was Jaemin— _the nation's sweetheart_ — discreetly snorting cocaine in the backroom between his tedious takes and just _barely_ trying to contain himself by the threads of his bursting seams.

"Jaemin, what are you—" he starts, but the clang of a hand against the mirror freezes him back in place. He balls his fingers together when he sees Jaemin wishing he could lie, flickers of resentment pinching his chest for the fact that he can't. It was obvious, what he was doing. What's left to do was for Jeno to forget about it, but Jaemin won't settle for that.

"S-sorry you had to see that— this," Jaemin clenches his eyes shut, knuckles stilling. "Shit. I swear, I'm not—"

"Don't sweat it, _really._ I'm not going to say a word." Jeno croaks awkwardly, although he's seconds away from a massive freak-out. He shuffles around, points to the exit door. "They need you back on the set,"

"I need to explain myself," He shouts.

"No," Jeno says, in obvious fear of inflating the situation. "I think I get what's happening—"

Jaemin slams his hand against the table again, louder this time. "No, you don't."

"I'll listen," he stammers, but he turns his head away. "Alright. I'll listen." It takes him more than it would to calm himself down when Jaemin takes a deep, shaky breath— the kind that screams helpless, hopeless. The kind that makes him think neither of them have thought this through.

"Look, I don't do this, n-not often. And it's not like I do it to get high. I don't—" Jaemin rambles out, and no, Jeno didn't assume he would ever be subjected to a pressuring apology over walking in on someone doing drugs, but Jaemin digresses, obviously freaked out, "Just for a few more months— just to get by. I promise— I'm fine."

That's another thing he thought he'd have to go through hell and back to get— a promise. But then Jaemin keeps begging to reassure Jeno like he's holding on to dear life, grappling for the light of hope like that's the only thing he's not allowed to have despite everything. Jeno hardly knows if Jaemin's even rational enough to see himself through this, if he's crying because he didn't want his reputation of sweetness and purity to scatter into puny bits or if he was crying because he didn't know shit about what he wanted anymore, and Jeno didn't know what to feel at the striking thought of that— sadness, shock, remorse, confusion.

Pity.

_Yes, that._

It's the force that riles him on and drives him crazy enough, so that when Jaemin's knees buckle and he falls haphazardly to the ground in a fit of uncontrollable tears, Jeno is quick to catch him.

Jeno swiftly scoops Jaemin up in his arms as he stays kneeling, curling his fingers over Jaemin's hair so he can gently press his head to his own chest. Tears pool over the fabric of his shirt quick enough, but Jaemin still won't stop shaking.

He can't deny his heart is beating loud enough to battle the silence of the room, but it's the least he has to worry about for jumping into the fire; he still has Jaemin to take care of, and he's afraid what he's doing won't be enough to guide both of them out of the murky path.

"Tell me I'm not like everyone else, please," Jaemin murmurs, and if Jeno wasn't worried out of his mind he'd know he was begging. "I don't want to be like them, Jeno. _I don't want to be like them."_

Jeno, who's freaked out in a realm beyond comprehension, tucks his head low, breathes into Jaemin's hair and whispers, "You're not like them."

"It's not my fault. That i-it just— came with putting myself out there." He cries out, every breath of air he takes in sounding like it'd been punched out of his lungs. "Everything is so hard— and no one gets it. No one understands. No one's going to come up and say, _I see you. I see you, Jaemin_. In every sense of it that's supposed to mean I'll be alright, and I'll get to find my own peace in the midst of all this bullshit. The good kind of peace— not like, sex, or drugs, or alcohol, or anything that ends up— killing me in the end. I don't want that. I don't think I've ever wanted _this._ And they all think I have it easy, just because I'm a—'

"But you can't keep doing this." Jeno heaves out a shivery mumble, one that echoes over the silence like a warble. "You'll ruin everything."

"I know." Jaemin says— and he smiles through his tears, and it breaks Jeno's heart, how much he knew it was coming. Jaemin has never looked more broken, more at peace with his demons than he did in that moment, when his movements soften and he stills. It's clear, how close he is to giving it all up when he tells Jeno, "What's terrifying is, I feel like I already did."

Jeno doesn't want to stop here. He turns to burn circles on the cement between the tiles instead, when staring back at Jaemin becomes a little too unbearable.

"That's not true. People, you know—" Jeno stutters. "They look at you _. All the time."_ That might be all he has to say, but the truth in it is all it takes to stop Jaemin in his tracks.

"What?" Jaemin breathes out, reasonably overthrown. There's a twinkle in his eyes that wasn't really there before, and Jeno keeps it close when he holds Jaemin's gaze.

"Some of them look at you like you're the light of their lives. So, you— how are you giving these people _something_ you somehow can't give yourself?" It's far from being anything, but if the way it shakes Jaemin, blows his eyes wide like it's not anything he's ever heard before— even if it was— it wracks Jeno up all the same. "Jaemin. Please. Do you— get what I'm saying?"

"I— what," Jaemin shivers, slowly falls quiet, silently hoping this counts as enough of a response. _Right_ , it's not like he owes one to Jeno— he doesn't. Jeno just wishes he could at least say he was okay.

"Nevermind." He shakes his head when it gets too overbearing. "Is it bad if I ask whether or not you still feel like getting back out there? I mean— just to be sure—"

"I'm going back." Jaemin firmly mumbles, his hands gripping around Jeno's arms, scrambling for leverage as he struggles to make his knees work. "This is my passion, first of all,"

Jeno can't help but laugh meekly at that. "Yeah," he cheekily mocks. "You're the nation's first love,"

"And the nation's biggest teenage angst advocate," he says back.

"And the only boy who's ever looked absolutely breathtaking as they awkwardly smile and draw out the _Disney Channel_ logo,"

Jaemin scoffs. "And that was, what, 7 years ago?"

"And you're still so, so loved for that." Jaemin actually chuckles, then, but it's small, low. Jeno's just relieved Jaemin doesn't know he's not joking anymore. "Are you going to be alright?" He asks, holding his breath in.

Jaemin modestly peeks up, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the sight of Jeno— looming like a beacon of hope from above his quivering figure. Jeno's eyes are alive, and there are speckles of light that emerge from them, bright like galaxies. For a second, everything clears, and the backdrop of dread that surrounds Jaemin washes away like the calm after the storm.

 _Light of my life._ Now, Jaemin gets it.

He hums as he softly mumbles out, "Yeah." All along, he knew this wasn't hope, but it was something and it was everything, and he holds on long enough to believe it when he says, "I'm going to be alright."

☆☆☆

Some things have changed.

Jeno doesn't actually keep up with what's changed until he gets a call from Donghyuck the next Monday, his hearty chirps resounding over the line _, "Has it occurred to you today that it's a Monday?"_

It holds enough of an edge to make Jeno shiver as he double-checks his calendar app, but not enough for Jeno to distinguish the question like it's an elephant in the room. "Yeah?" He croaks out mid-chew, his lips resting against the bread of his soggy _Subway._

 _"Oh my God,"_ Donghyuck keens, but he's whispering. Something tells Jeno he's sneaked out of his job just to make the call. _"Don't you have your job-related breakdowns scheduled for today? What suddenly happened to_ Misery Mondays?"

"Uh." He shrugs, mumbling as soon as his mind unconsciously travels back to his list of eccentric high school slang. "Same thing that happened to _Madonna Mondays,_ I guess."

 _"Excuse you, those are still a thing."_ Now he's gasping, but it still manages to be quiet, on low volume. _"But you... you're a changed man, my guy."_

"I am?" Jeno laughs. "Is that a good thing?"

 _"You are."_ He says, surely. _"And I think you can decide that for yourself. I felt like I should tell you."_ And he was right.

There wasn't any need to lie. Jeno hasn't really felt as calm and relieved as he is now— which was ironic, considering he should actually be freaking his balls out now more than ever. Saying he was happy and content felt like a stretch, but for the most part he hasn't felt like signing those resignation papers anymore.

Although, nothing much has happened. At first, Jeno thinks it's just because they finally sent in some guys to fix the crappy vending machine after weeks of piling complaints. Now everyone's rejoicing (especially Jisung, with much enthusiasm), _God fucking bless for the Froot Loops_ , and it miraculously makes the whole stressful film set experience marginally alleviated.

It's quite literally only that, or it's Jaemin. He shows up on set most days with horrid bags under his eyes. Boggled, a little weary on the edges, a little too disarmed for Jeno to decide he shouldn't be keeping a close eye on him, but when Jaemin scoots close to Jeno as soon as he walks into set and smiles in a way he's never smiled before, Jeno drops his guard down and thinks, Jaemin might not look like it, but he's getting somewhere.

"Hey," he ecstatically greets Jaemin, who unexpectedly reacts by flashing his hand over Jeno's face while he wiggles his ring finger, the round band of violet wrapped over it glinting bright under the fluorescent lights.

"So I bought a color-changing mood ring the other day," he tells Jeno immediately, with the same amount of elation as a high school chick who's had enough money to conveniently hop on the newest trend. "They had a whole box on sale at _Amazon—"_

"Wait," Jeno mumbles. _"Amazon."_ He's telling Jeno he could so easily throw away a load of hot shit from _Louis Vuitton_ but would lose his balls over a box of $5 rings on— fucking _Amazon?_

Jaemin only shrugs, purposely ignoring Jeno's inquiry to say, "It came with a color guide. See? I think it's violet if I'm happy."

Jeno pauses for a moment, clearing his throat in relief. He looks up and sighs, sincerely optimistic. "And— you are?"

He nods a little, walking forward when he smiles. "I think I am."

 _Thank God._ Jeno grins, too.

It wasn't even sort of halfway the worst of times. Not anymore.

☆☆☆

_"You're the love of my life— and don't look at me like that and say I'm being stupid. God, Ferrier, people say you don't find things you want to keep forever when you're young and dumb and desperate to have something to yearn for, but you— you're_ — ah, fuck. I can't do this."

 _"Cut!"_ The director shouts, his voice resounding through the walls in anger. "Jaemin, look— something's clearly bothering you." Jaemin almost throws a retort, except then he remembers he's got his job on the line. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"No," Jaemin huffs, his gaze unfocused. "I'm just—"

"—Wracked up." Yukhei groans beside him, for the fifth time on that scene alone. "Are we ever going to finish this scene, _Valmer?"_

"I'm just off today, _Ferrier."_ Jaemin falters in humiliation, fumbling around for his script. When the set grows quiet, Jaemin freezes, knowing everyone's glaring at him out of spite. "Uh. Sorry." He mumbles, out of breath, his shoulders falling as soon as he turns back to look at his script in gloom.

Oh, _God._ Jeno can't handle seeing this.

Why does it have to be _now,_ of all times, that Renjun had to drag him out of the safety of the studio to assist the production department? It's not like he's even doing anything, and like heck munching on a bag of _Lays_ for the past twenty minutes even counts. It's cruel, how it makes him look like he's triumphing over a bowl of buttery popcorn, lounging in front a movie screen and enjoying the scene that's continuously playing before him, when he's _not_ — he's freaking out, because Jaemin's freaking out and they've come so close to something better but now all Jeno can think of is what he's allowed to do when Jaemin hasn't really been within his reach. He has ideas, but none of them count. There _isn't_ even a problem, save for the fact that Jeno's this close to bursting his head open if Jaemin does, and he can't really recall Jaemin ever telling him to give a shit about that, but he does, and it just makes it all worse.

Jeno looks down, contemplates hyperventilating into his half-empty bag of _Lays,_ heaving in and out, savoring the potato-chip-laced air until Renjun looks at him and reminds him he's being way too dramatic. He looks up again, and then gets a hold of himself— because Jaemin's not so far away, and for some reason he's _looking_ back.

Jaemin blinks for a moment, his lips quirking into a line that's not quite a smile. His chest heaves obviously, the dread that engulfs him doubling in a way that Jeno wouldn't miss even if he hadn't been staring.

Jeno actually finds the courage to mouth, _"I'm worried,"_ when Jaemin sighs, his worn-out state still there, around the rims of his eyes. Jaemin seems shocked at that, his shoulders slowly softening when the anxiety dies down relievingly too soon.

He only grins and flits his hand up for Jeno to stare at, the ring around his finger still glinting a vibrant shade of violet; he waves his hand around, exactly like he wants Jeno to notice it, and Jeno can't even find it in himself to hold back his fucking sigh.

It's a cheap move, really, way too unreliable for reassurance— for all Jeno knows, no one who's sane enough would trust a goddamn mood ring that's as good as a _fuck no_ from a magic 8 ball, but Jeno also knows it's what Jaemin wants him to believe, so, without much hesitance, he drops it. He huffs when Jaemin huffs, suddenly convinced it could be that easy, relieved that things are surprisingly back on track, for now.

Until Renjun nudges him in the arm, blurts out, "Care to explain to me why you were making googoo eyes at Mr. Jaemin?" And suddenly he's stiff and scared and sweating a bucket's worth of a whole triathlon.

"I was?" He fake-gasps, awkwardly and shakily, making Renjun cringe. "You were, too,"

"Lame. I wasn't." Renjun shrugs, then looks away. "I mean, not at _him_."

"Huh," Jeno turns back, tries not to refocus on Jaemin (which comes with much effort). He immediately spots Wong Yukhei towering over everyone else and laughing carelessly. The gears in his head turn, and they ding in place when the realization finally kicks in and he has to stop himself from toppling over again when he mindlessly screams at Renjun— "That's _fucking_ wild."

Renjun doesn't even acknowledge this. "You know what's really wild?" He asks. "That you have a bigger chance with the man of your dreams than I do." He huffs before he continues. "And I hate it."

Jeno whistles snarkily. "For a second I thought that was you giving me a pep talk."

"I mean it though." He shrugs. "You're not entirely hopeless, is what I'm saying."

"Now this is you trying to be a fortune teller, I assume."

"Believe me, Jeno." Renjun says, with a lilt to his voice that actually manages to sound mystical in a way. "And that's on a period, on a _Harry Potter_ spell book, or something."

That night, Renjun apparently works his modern magic.

It's been a long, tedious day at work, in the sense of the experience that makes Jeno feel like a decent amount of fast food and some shut-eye is already too much to ask for. Apparently not— the world _so_ loves to prove him wrong— because although he's walking out of set with his jacket nearly drenched in sweat and his right leg this _fucking_ close to limping out, the next thing he knows, Jaemin's calling out for him, and then he's walking over, and then, like fuck, now he's in front of him, and Jeno's too burnt out to decide this isn't just the product of another fever daze.

"Dude," Jeno mumbles in greeting, and then reiterates to try and save his conversational reputation. "I meant. Hey. Hello? Or, like. Uh. What's the word— _salutations?"_

Jaemin laughs then, his voice hoarse but hearty. He doesn't say anything when Jeno whistles, just leans closer until he's laughing giddily again. He almost links their arms together swiftly, until Jeno freezes and intervenes midway.

"Were you waiting for—" His mouth stops short of saying Yukhei, because by then Jaemin had cheekily shushed him, his pointer finger landing plush on his dry lips.

Jaemin shyly retorts, saying, "I was waiting for you."

"Oh," he blushes. "Why?"

Jaemin doesn't offer anything more than a smile, as if there's no need for an explanation. Without much of an internal argument on Jeno's behalf, he successfully made himself Jeno's top priority for the night— _well,_ Jeno reasons, it's not like he _isn't—_ but more importantly, he's _expecting_ Jeno to actually lead the way.

Somehow, minutes later, he ends up with Jaemin in his car.

Jeno wishes he could've at least vacuumed off the _Cheetos_ bits still lingering on the leather of the backseat, if he knew this was what fate had in store for him, but Jaemin doesn't seem to mind. Jeno swerves off the parking lot with careful eyes on Jaemin's movements, surveying his hands when they tilt up to reach for the pine tree air freshener that's dangling off Jeno's front mirror, long enough for Jeno to wonder if Jaemin holds some sentiment over cheap air fresheners or if he just _really,_ really loathes the scent of _Bayside Breeze._ No one says a thing for a long amount of time, only until Jaemin spontaneously mumbles, out of the blue, "I want _McDonald's."_

"Holy shit," Jeno doesn't know why he's chuckling, but he doesn't stop even when he speaks. "At least now I know where to take you."

"You mean to tell me," Jaemin sneers intentionally. "You've been driving in circles for the past four minutes?"

"Yeah?" He shrugs. "I didn't know where you wanted to go. I don't know where you live, either."

"You could have asked." Now Jaemin's giggling along, his chest heaving as he leans sideways on the seat, his head falling lax as he stares at Jeno with a smile on his face. "Are you scared of me, sweetheart?"

"No." He says, snarkily. "Just trying to make a good, lasting impression, is all."

Jaemin smiles and leans close, until the scent of his honey-laced perfume lingers just right below Jeno's radar. "Never had a boy in your car?" He asks, his hand landing on Jeno's shoulder.

"Well." Jeno gulps. "Never had a boy _I like_ in my car."

"Oh, dang." Jaemin jokingly curses, but there's a tension that lingers. "You serious?"

"I don't know." He laughs, following along. "I'll think about it."

The silence finally settles between them more comfortably— Jeno tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he speeds over the freeway, all while Jaemin stares out at the view of the vast night sky enveloping the towers of buildings, humming over the cumbersome rumbling of the car engine.

Minutes later, Jeno halts the car in front of the Mcdonald's drop-off area, and they spend around a minute arguing over Jeno swerving to the drive-thru or walking in and directly ordering take-out for both of them— and another minute to graze over Jeno's inadvertent proposal to just eat in as if he isn't talking to someone who's _way_ too rich and well-known for their own good to even consider a McDonald's branch worthy of their presence.

It comes as a surprise that Jaemin reacts to this more positively, giggling along and saying, "It's not like I haven't been inside one before."

"Yeah," Jeno says, accusingly. "Just that it's been, like, five years since then."

"Five years isn't even a stretch, mister." Jaemin fakes an offended gasp, then giggles again, giving in. "But you're the man right now. Just make sure I don't blow my cover."

Jeno squeezes in a joke. "Maybe if you take off the glittery coat. That's 99.9% less of the probability someone's going to recognize you."

"Ha," he smirks in agreement, shaking off his coat and physically grimacing over the feeling, like he's shed off some form of second skin. He swelters momentarily, anxious for a second. "You know, in all seriousness, I really shouldn't be this nervous over dine-in chicken nuggets and like, ten people, who probably don't even give two shits about showbiz. I mean, hopefully?"

"I got you, though." It comes out of Jeno's mouth almost like an impulse reaction, but it's more like a surge of churning gas that's been built up in his stomach to create a satisfying burp. It was anything but, if the way Jaemin cringed as soon as he said it was anything to be happy about. But he doesn't think he'd like it better if Jaemin caved in and cried, instead.

It perturbs Jeno how ordering fries becomes a harder task than usual.

He's got it mentally listed out, almost like a dying speech, and he knew memorizing it really should be easy enough _._ It was as easy as blurting out, _Fries. Chicken Nuggets. A filet-o-fish_ (and who even orders that, still, in this economy?) _Scalding hot crap for coffee._ But with Jaemin watching over him like a child too scared to ask for a Happy Meal, he can't really will himself to act right, not even if he tried.

Jeno sighs, seconds after they've fallen in line. "I think I made it clear you should've just taken a seat over there." He lifts a finger just in time with Jaemin's annoyed groan.

"Yeah." Jaemin rolls his eyes and pouts, cooing sardonically. "Beside the large glass window where people have a stark, awesome view of my ass. Fool-proof plan, Jeno, really."

"Does crouching over my back like that make you any less suspicious, then?"

"What— fuck, I didn't mean to crouch." Jaemin clears his throat then, straightening up instinctively. "Your back's just magnetic. _So warm,_ you're like a walking heat pad." Oh, how Jeno wishes he could swoon at that, but the urge to keep his shit is still holding on, marginally stronger.

"Just. Act normal, okay?" He swallows down a wave of spit. Then, he keens. "Do it for the _Happy Meal."_

"Oh, fine." Jaemin scoffs, shifting eagerly. "For the _Happy Meal."_

It's stupid to think they even set out a plan for this, but sooner and quickly enough, they succumb to the desire to fool around anyway.

When they reach the counter, Jeno lays out their order quicker than a gang bust, with Jaemin overseeing him like an overly suspicious sidekick who's also too hungry to give a shit about blowing covers. As soon as the cashier guy dings their meal out, Jeno reaches for the tray and sneakily runs to the farthest booth in the area, laughing like a kid as Jaemin follows suit, his neck bent way far down in hiding. Their giddiness is a memorable sight to behold, almost like they're just two teenagers a little too drunk to comprehend and execute a standard, nightly meal out. Otherwise, their impulsive mission is a success, and they triumph in their flightiness as they relish in the feeling of savory, the sting of salt down their tongues.

"I missed this." Jaemin starts with a satisfied moan, voice set decibels higher as he croaks over his french fry. "I'm actually having a moment."

Jeno chuckles along and extends the joke, saying, "This is that pivotal point in everyone's life where you realize you can never have enough _McDonald's_ in your system."

"And I'm _years_ too late," he fake-cries, grabbing a tissue and rubbing it against his eyes to intensify his theatrics. "To know that this is all I ever needed,"

"And, _cut!"_ Jeno howls, clapping his hands together. He turns to his side and squeals, pretends to look over a reel of imaginary footage. "Wow, Jaems! This'll sell like hot shit. Fuck it, you know what, you're officially the new _McD's_ ambassador, and that's for the rest of your life, baby!"

"Oh, fuck off," Jaemin chuckles loud, playfully nudging Jeno from across the table.

They spend a few, slow moments trying to suppress their laughs before it bursts out of their chests resoundingly. A couple of annoyed glares are sent their way, but right now it manages to be the least of their worries.

Seconds pass in stillness, giving Jeno time to direct his attention back to his neglected portion of sprawled-up ketchup packets. He doesn't, really. He breathes in and looks at Jaemin, instead, startled at the way Jaemin softly looks back, his eyes narrowed attentively. "Can I tell you something?" Jaemin grins, although for a second he sounded serious.

Jeno gulps, nodding. "You can tell me anything."

"We're the coolest people in McDonald's." Jaemin whispers with an exasperated chuckle, leaning over the table to hold Jeno's hand, and Jeno's high enough on caffeine and Jaemin's honey perfume to laugh along and believe it.

Jeno dwells in his time to be observant, and he basks in this particular sight of Jaemin, giggling softly every time he takes a bite off his burger, and — although he's conscious about it— how he likes to bite the edges of his poor coffee cup.

As Jeno learns, Jaemin's the kind of person to dip his fries in nugget sauce and his nuggets in ketchup, the kind to tear through the sugar and creamer packets with his teeth instead of his fingers, and to overuse the measly amount of tissues they've been given to wipe the table clean of stray bits of salt more times than he should. He's adorable, and as much as it's out there, the word doesn't quite hit the mark. He's— odd. And easily entertained. Slackened and comfortable. _Pretty with his guard down._ Honestly, the closest to normal Jeno's seen him in weeks.

It's a bit stupefying, nauseating but in the best way. And when it strings together, he finds the courage to tell Jaemin this, says, "You're nauseating," to which Jaemin only cackles, as if he knew he should take it as a compliment. The frenzy dies down, and Jeno's seamlessly dead-set on a realization that topples over the rest of his sudden realizations; Jaemin is nauseating now because he's _real_ , when all this time he's felt like he crawled straight out of a daydream. He's no longer indecipherable, and although it took Jeno far too much ponder, he's no longer looking back— all-smiles and blank eyes— like he's on the other side of a television screen anymore.

Like _this,_ Jeno realizes, Jaemin isn't so out of reach. Jeno could just hold his hands out and Jaemin would be the one to close the gap, to say he's been waiting for him. He doesn't really know what this means— he figures it's about time he gave up on trying to skim Jaemin down to the bone like it was enough to supply him any sort of dictionary meaning. Jaemin thrives in being anything but definable, which took some time to make sense to Jeno. But now it's so easy for him to decide that although Jaemin's nature leaves much to be desired, it shouldn't mean he's not worth the capacity of being understood.

It's kind of painfully cruel to think about. Even people like Jaemin— who have spent years of their lives proving to people that they can be deserving of so many things— can only have _this_ much and _this_ little to ask for, and yet somehow they're still let down.

Then, in a massive turn of introspection, Jeno thinks about the possibility of Jaemin wanting him to be the one to give him something like that. Surely enough, it throws him off— because he takes one hard look at himself and he already knows he _can't_ give Jaemin something like that.

The thought of it doesn't scare Jeno, per se. But it haunts him. It feels visceral in some sense, physical enough that when he buckles up on the ride back home, he feels it weigh him down. He drives too slow as Jaemin shuffles himself flat against the seat with a chuckle, relieved to be back in touch with the comfort of his oversized fur coat. Jeno looks at him like he wants to ask a question, and Jaemin either doesn't notice or just completely disregards him to beam at a particular sight outside of Jeno's car window.

"Hold up." Jaemin mutters, slowly sitting up. "Look at that."

Jeno raises a brow right before he turns his head, the unlit logo of an adjacent toy store, way past store hours, managing to draw in his eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking at." He tells Jaemin, not realizing that Jaemin's left the car as soon as Jeno's hit the brakes to sprint his way to the storefront.

"Look at _this!"_ Jaemin flails around, rejoicing at the vibrant display of what appears to be a children's stuffed toy. "Fuck, I've wanted these so bad when I was young— I haven't seen one of these ever since."

When Jeno comes around, he's not even surprised. If anything, he's surprised at himself, because he's actually laughing. "Oh, man." He croaks, peeking from the car seat. "This is just— my knowledge of stuffed toys is— uh, it's just. _So bad."_

"How unfortunate." Jaemin pouts jokingly. "It's _obviously_ a miracle that we get along."

Jeno adds, "Or fate's just a bitch who said I'd be a great friend."

"Don't sell yourself short, Jeno." He says, tapping his finger gently over the glass of the display. "I wouldn't trade you for ten of these."

"Hm," Jeno chuckles in fake contemplation. "How about twenty?"

"A reasonable bargain," he sticks his tongue out when he faces Jeno snarkily, the laugh in his voice evident. "I guess I'm sold!" He shouts, and then they're both laughing again.

Jeno's thoughts start to bother him less, and they're all suddenly replaced by a crash of persistent optimism. He's not good enough for Jaemin— he acknowledges this much. But, so what if he's not good enough? If he indulges in the fact that Jaemin could even need him for anything, even if it's for a god damn snack run at the ends of the universe, he knows himself well enough. He knows this is something he wants to do. He knows it's going to bite him back, that it's him against the world or it's him against him. And despite it all, he knows he'll do it anyway.

In his daze, he hastily clicks his phone open, and scrolls through his texts to find where he's left off in his conversation with Donghyuck. It was something about Mark wanting peas on his mashed potatoes, and then Jeno remembers, _I was supposed to have dinner with these lovebirds tonight._

He tries to wrap his head around the best way to explain why he can't go all of a sudden, but then he remembers it's just Donghyuck, and he probably wouldn't pass on the chance to get a good— no _please don't fuck up the couch I just got it vacuumed_ comments from Jeno— solo dicking session from Mark. He practically had nothing to worry about, so he swipes his keyboard up and types out:

**Hey sorry. Guess i cant go have dinner w u and mark tonight.**

**So much for Mark Mondays**

The response comes not even five seconds later, because it's not Donghyuck if he doesn't have his phone literally glued to his palms.

**good because no one cares**

**im kidding!1! 1!!!**

**why not?!!!!?!! :'(**

**There are errands i have to do now that im not jobless, apparently.**

**Im not going to elaborate.**

**oh got it**

**bold of u to think i wont automatically assume that by errands u meant booty calls**

**in that case i completely understand the urgency**

A few seconds pass in Jeno's refusal to type out anything but a standard response, but it takes a stunted heartbeat and all the color residing in his face to not throw his phone out the car window when Donghyuck follows up shortly after with:

**pls get that bread**

**yo wait**

**DO U THINK IM ANGRY </3**

**im the proudest ive been in weeks <3333 **

**r u like getting that bread. u like getting that bread**

**. Delicious AND scrumptious and HMMM SEXC SEXC ass bread**

**Get the fuck out oh my god Mark tame ur man please.**

**I forget ure a working adult with a functional, mostly normal lifestyle sometimes.**

**i forget too**

**ure not special**

**Shocking**

**Which reminds me btw...**

**you enrolled in a knitting workshop last year right?**

**yes i did when u were busy losing your shit over film school**

**glad u asked because im abt to flex**

**but wait...**

**sorry, jeno :(**

**im afraid im not the right person to ask for knitted condoms**

**my craft goes beyond the realm of your weird ass kinks >:(**

**That was not my point please let me breathe im just saying**

He takes a deep, shaky breath, looks at Jaemin from the view on his car window once, twice with more loving, until he finds the courage to nervously type out:

**Hyuck please.**

**Could u do this one thing for me, by any chance?**

☆☆☆

_"We should go out today,"_

"Uh," Jeno incoherently mumbles over his mug of orange juice. "What?"

A call from Jaemin was the last thing Jeno could possibly expect at 3p.m. on a Saturday afternoon. It was even weirder, for the fact that **a.)** Jeno doesn't remember ever handing his number out to Jaemin, **b.)** Jaemin rarely uses his phone to call people, let alone for a reason that **c.)** wasn't entirely all that urgent, and now **d.)** it's exactly what he's doing and, unfortunately, **e.)** the first thing he had to hear from Jeno's line was a screech from Donghyuck that was, apparently, because Jeno drank all the goddamn _Tropicana_ in their fridge, and he had the all-consuming onus to be dramatic about it.

Jeno ignores the obvious question in Jaemin's _uh, what was that_ , by saying: "You have a window. And eyes. You can see that it's raining so hard, Jaemin. Like, we even had to cancel filming."

 _"I'm just saying it would be nice."_ Jaemin says. _"There's a viewdeck on the farther side of the city. I used to go there as a kid. It's got a solid view of all the buildings and— you know."_

"What?" He repeats, because his vocabulary's suddenly been reduced to that.

 _"It's nice."_ Jaemin reasons briefly. _"I just figured—"_

Shuddering, Jeno huffs in equal parts of stress and worry. "Look," he speaks. "I'm sure there's tons of other days for this."

 _"Alright, I get it."_ He mumbles. Their line fluctuates over vibrations of silence, long enough for Jeno to wonder if Jaemin's ended the call. He hasn't, because suddenly he blurts out, _"You'd have to pick me up, anyhow."_

"What?" There he goes again. His eyebrows start to furrow in confusion. "Where are you?"

"Oh my God, is that him?" Donghyuck yelps in observation, his voice booming throughout their apartment. "The bad bitch you wanted me to pull out yarn from my ass and _knit_ for?"

"Uh, yeah," Jeno only says, realizing he's forgotten to tell Hyuck that the bad bitch in question is globally renowned, big-name actor Na Jaemin— the same one Jeno's had a months-worth of fucking _A24_ -esque wet dreams that only Hyuck knows about (which Jeno plays off as a no biggie. "It's normal. It's just all of the billboards of Jaemin outside our balcony," and fuck, _they're all evil)._ For all the unmitigated boldness it takes Jeno to rant about his fucking job, there hasn't really been a right time, which is both kind of stupid and unfortunate, but mostly it's just stupid.

"Wait a damn minute," Donghyuck tilts his head conspicuously, a tinge of familial sincerity concealed by the goofiness of his tone. "Can I talk to him and see if he's worth it, then?"

"I think, no," is all Jeno responds with. He turns his attention back to Jaemin, says, "Just send me your location," before he ends the call, scared that Donghyuck might pull a stunt and grab his phone from him. He turns to find that Donghyuck hasn't— but he was about to.

"Lee Donghyuck," he sighs. "Please stop being Satan."

"How'd you know I'd do something!?" He gasps in jolly shock, applauding Jeno. "You've leveled up, smart ass, really, _really_ something else now— fuck, let me guess. You met your boy at a braincell donation drive?"

"Sure I did. Now fun's over." He shrugs with a chuckle, hopping off the counter as he reads through Jaemin's text— he's a ten-minute drive away. "I have to go." He says, sauntering past the living room to reach their front door.

"Oh, begone." Donghyuck rolls his eyes and waves Jeno off, tossing over a jacket in the process. "Buy me some juice, will you?"

"You have my word for it." He nods and makes his way to the apartment hall, quickly types out _tropicalana???_ on the notes app of his phone. He figures somewhere along the way that, figuratively and relatively speaking, he kind of owes Hyuck more than that.

On the drive to Jaemin's location, the sound of the rattling rain is partially subdued by the tight-shut windows and the slow mumbles of his car radio. Jeno's calm and relatively placid, but he's dreaded, most of all. It's just that, ever since the night out with Jaemin, he's been anything but the same. And it's not that he's sad over it, but it's more like he's supposed to be. For Jeno, having some semblance of assurance has always come with a cost— and because Jaemin's _actually_ giving him the time of day now, it's an ecstatic improvement, for the most part, but it also makes him just slightly, truly, royally more than a little bit terrified for what's to come.

True to the foretelling of his phone's laggy _Google Maps_ app, he finds Jaemin ten minutes later beside the cemented stairs of an elevated viewdeck, cooped up under the shade of a large tree, his coat sopping wet as he tries twice as hard to obscure the god awful _Gossip Girl_ shirt he's wearing. Jeno rushes to his aid, sweeping Jaemin up and under the safety of his large umbrella as he leads him back to the car.

As soon as they're in the car, Jeno nearly opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the wet drops from Jaemin's clothes trickling down the leather of Jeno's car seats invade his train of thought. Jeno didn't even realize Jaemin was only wearing jogging pants and bunny slippers, at first, and now that he's taken a long, good look, he finds that Jaemin's coat wasn't even a coat— it's a checkered bath robe, and God, it's undeniably the ugliest thing Jeno's ever seen. At least Jaemin makes this shit look good.

"Before you ask," Jaemin starts, obviously distressed by his own get-up. "I didn't go to a _Gossip Girl_ convention."

"I wasn't going to ask that." Jeno says as he starts the engine, confused. He manages to drive through a few blocks before Jaemin starts to speak again.

"I just felt this spontaneous wave of nostalgia, for some reason." He says, frenzied. "And then my brain kept telling me to do something about it, so I felt like I'd probably explode if I didn't."

"That's nice." Jeno comments a bit blankly. When Jaemin doesn't respond with anything more than a shrug, he lets out an overwhelmed sigh. "The urge could've timed its self better, to be honest."

"No, it couldn't have." Jaemin grits his teeth in stunted guilt. He tilts his head to face Jeno accusingly. "You're probably thinking, _wow, couldn't he have put on decent clothes for this?"_

"I wasn't really thinking that." 

"I guess it just goes to show." He rambles, his voice cracking and shaking along with his precarious self-control. "I mean, you're right. It makes no sense. But nothing makes sense when you're like— trying not to go back to doing the same reckless things, and oh, God, it's just. Like heck I still give a shit about dressing up and looking good. You know, it's like I _needed_ to be there, more than anything—"

"And now you're soaking wet from the rain and acting like you've had the universe's best soul-searching-induced self-revelation?"

 _"Jesus,_ Jeno. Really? And I _thought_ you knew better." Jaemin quakes furiously, and Jeno fears he'll actually lose it. "At least it's _something_. At least it's not _fucking—_ relapsing in the damn break room. At least it's not _fucking_ drugs _."_

"I was just worried it was." Jeno confesses shortly after, relieved when Jaemin suddenly reaches over to grab one of his hands.

"Well. As much as it's hard to believe, this isn't that kind of thing." Jaemin tells him, in time with the soothing strokes he manages to trace over Jeno's hand. It does an awful job of calming Jeno down, because Jaemin's obviously wracked up himself, but it manages. "You don't have to worry at all."

In lieu of forcing himself to respond, Jeno holds a breath in and slackens, inching his hand up to click the stereo button on, the melodious tune of an oldies song blaring in the car throughout their drive. It's _Chet Baker_ , and it fills the car with soft sounds of serene jazz and a distinct voice that belts out words of plain melancholy, and Jeno would've swooned to this in any other setting, but it's also exactly because Jeno likes it so much that he had wished he was listening to some obnoxious EDM, instead.

Jeno tries to suck it up for the remainder of the car ride, for Jaemin's sake, because that's the kind of fulfillment he gets when he's driving through the rain and listening to the emotionally-intensified instrumentals of _I Get Along Without You Very Well._ It doesn't help that Jaemin's hand hasn't left his own at all for the past minute, and that there's nothing out the highway to look at besides the blur of passing cars that might help to distract him. He cusses inwardly when Jaemin cinches his fingers tight over his own. He blushes. His senses fill with deadly heaps of warmth, and in the desperation for a last resort, he pleads to himself, _Chet Baker, man, see me through this._

In his anxious daze, it hits Jeno too late that they've already arrived at their destination. He blinks back to reality to peek up from where he's suddenly parked in a lot that's close to empty, Jaemin's luxurious apartment complex already right in front of them. The rain still hasn't stopped, and Jaemin almost reaches for the car handle to see himself out before Jeno stops him in his tracks.

"I should apologize." He stammers, his hands stiffening against the steering wheel.

"But there's nothing to forgive." Jaemin says.

"I _really_ should." He argues. They dither in the final melodies of heartsick nothingness, until Jeno says, "Stay here for a while."

"I—" he mumbles, pauses when the next song blasts over the radio, suddenly lighting up. "I _love_ this song." Jaemin laughs to himself, and when Jeno turns to look at him, he says, "I just thought of doing something."

Jeno pauses over the opening tunes, lingers in the groovy garage band flightiness of a _Daughters of Eve_ song. "I mean," He says. "As long as it's not more coke."

"Shut up— for the record, I came clean, alright?" Jaemin clicks his tongue, huffing. He looks solemn, for a moment. "You're lucky that was funny."

"Nice," He beams. "Celebratory cocaine snort?"

Jaemin rolls his eyes, and playfully shoves Jeno across his chest with a weak push. Jeno tries to act like he's in severe pain, which just makes Jaemin roll his eyes even more.

"If you're not out of the car by the next three seconds," Jaemin says, hands buckling against the car door's handle like he's threatening Jeno. "You're totally unforgiven."

"What?" He shouts, but Jaemin's already set the stereo's volume on the highest frequency and had bolted himself out of the car long before he could even hear.

 _"Hey, hey, hey, lover!"_ Jaemin highballs, screaming over his lungs as he thrashes in the rain. Jeno nervously double-takes before ultimately following suit, neglecting to bring along the umbrella in the backseat as he hustles himself out of the driver's seat to teeter over Jaemin's endearing spontaneity.

"Jaemin—" he walks over, slip-and-sliding through the drops of rain pattering over the scratchy concrete.

Jaemin puffs his chest out in the buzz, indulges in his own little world, the rest of the universe on mute. He flips his bangs out of his face— and that can't be enough to make him look absolutely surreal, but _it is_ — then, he shouts _. "You don't have to be a king!"_

Jeno just huffs, his whole body loosening in comfort at the sight of an enthused Jaemin. "You make this look so easy."

"I think you meant to say, _hey, hey, hey lover!"_ And then he spins on his heel, hopping against a small puddle of rainwater as he screams out the next line. _"You don't have to have a thing!"_

Jaemin honest to God looks like he's straight out of a movie, and even if he'd been something close in reality, it was besides the point. He dances like he's _alive,_ something infinitely and ineffably ethereal to be reckoned with that Jeno feels so meek and lowly in comparison. He's the kind of boy who stands out in the rain because they look like they're meant for the sidelines, and that much is apparent. Even so, he feels like he could be something like Jaemin, if he could at least have him this close.

Jaemin drags him out of his thoughts when he grabs him close and pulls him further out, where he's more exposed to the rain. He's still dancing, and Jeno wonders how hard that must be over all the heavily drenched layers of his clothes, but, like Jaemin, he finds out soon enough— when he's goofily swinging past his worries and screaming along to a song he's never heard until now— when he's out here, nothing matters.

Jeno laughs _. Nothing matters._ "You're pretty," He tells Jaemin, grinning despite himself.

"Pretty soaked?" Jaemin yells over his own gleeful laughter, sauntering to Jeno and letting his arms hover over his sides. "Pretty stupid?"

 _"Pretty."_ Jeno blurts out, firm and certain. He grabs Jaemin, twirls him in his arms with a chuckle. "Just pretty."

Jaemin flinches still, blushing amidst his own sputters of never-ending laughter. He holds Jeno's hand up to giddily twirl himself again— every single thing he does makes Jeno wonder if he's allowed to have this, if he can teeter long enough on the question to realize that this isn't the kind of thing that's built to break anymore.

When the haze simmers down, Jeno thinks of kissing Jaemin.

He tiptoes closer, until they're nearly chest to chest, heaving still in each other's bubbles. His bravery doubles by the second, and soon enough it becomes the only thing that viscerally surges through him. He wills himself to think straight once, and then twice, and then thrice, as many fucking times as he can before his body decides it should cut him some slack. He knows there's too much to anger, too much to risk, too much to lose and too much to ask for when nothing's really ever gone to his accord. The reality was that there's not a single damn thing in Jeno's life that will ever need him long enough to prove him wrong.

For some time, Jeno had wished and prayed and hoped it was Jaemin— and in that moment, he is.

But Jeno pleads then, _not this._

He tightens his fists and lets his face inch closer to Jaemin's, their breaths mingling together. _I want this too much, too much, too much._ He holds Jaemin by the small of his back when he leans forward, shutting his eyes and stopping himself just short of doing the inevitable. _Please._ Jeno breathes hard and fast, and Jaemin lingers. _Don't let it be this._

He presses his lips flat against Jaemin's, closes the tantalizing gap.

_This matters._

The world stills, and he floats, the air beneath them. Jaemin bristles slightly, but he doesn't move back, and for a stretch of time Jeno wonders why. No, the answer's pretty clear— Jeno just doesn't want to believe it is, not when time kept moving forward, or when there had been no inch of space between them, or when he breaks into shock and pulls back, and he realizes— this is the greatest thing that could ever happen to him, but the look on Jaemin's face screams, _it's not worth it._

 _"Jeno,"_ Jaemin whispers shakily, frozen in place.

"No." Jeno stammers, flinching away. "I won't do that again."

"What?" He's teary-eyed— Jeno could tell despite the constant stream of heavy rain. If he cries, it wouldn't make Jeno hate himself any less. So he backs away, just a little, but Jaemin's quick to catch him, pulling him stiff with his arms. "What the fuck?" Jaemin shivers, hurt.

"I-I'm leaving." Jeno shouts and yanks his arm back, going for broke. He steels himself and sprints farther, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Jeno—" Now Jaemin's yelling, _actually yelling,_ and Jeno can't digest this, "No— you're not— don't— don't leave! Jeno _, please!"_

Jeno _wishes_ he didn't get the point. He runs to the car and bolts the doors tight shut. He _wishes_ he hadn't been here. His foot buckles against the accelerator, and he revs the engine as he maneuvers the car backwards. He _wishes_ it didn't hurt Jaemin. He _wishes_ he hadn't loved him, _wishes_ he'd been gone, that he just never found out about the job, that he didn't even meet Jaemin so none of this would have happened. He _wishes_ he wasn't just doomed for the rest of his life, _wishes_ it didn't hurt him so much, _wishes_ it didn't hurt at all.

But, more than anything, with the cold, heart-shattering look on Jaemin's face practically engraved like a tattoo in the boldest edges of his mind, he _wishes_ he didn't drive off.

☆☆☆

Minutes later, Jeno stands still against the door of their apartment, his clothes dripping like deadweight on his skin and seeping onto the flimsy door mat.

"So, uh," He starts, his voice hoarse. "I didn't get the juice."

Hyuck blinks incredulously from where he'd been lounging on the floor, his mind progressing through all his different theories of how Jeno could look this wracked up and devastated over the span of a few short hours. He's holding what appears to be a knitted bunny key chain, dangling over his finger like he was about to give it to Jeno before he stopped himself. "It's— uh." He gulps, obviously worried. "It's— don't worry about it."

"The balcony," Jeno says impulsively, staring Hyuck down to somewhat gain his approval. "Can I, like—"

"Yeah, Jeno. But, I mean," He mutters when he gets up, reaching over the sofa to get Jeno a blanket. "It's cold out."

"I know," he mumbles, not really bothered.

"I should give you this." Hyuck holds his hand out anyway, cautiously slips the key chain's holder on one of Jeno's cold fingers. "I finished it. But I figured it's probably, uh, wrong of me to—"

"It's alright," is all he says before silently trudging past Donghyuck and elbowing his way through the balcony's door.

Outside, Jeno situates himself on the floor and holds his knees close to his chest, gulping down the lump in his throat as he leans his head against a steel bar. It's sickening that of all the places he could've chosen to relax, he chooses one where there's a whopping billboard of Jaemin's face in a fucking toothpaste ad, or something, and that his view of it— and all the other billboards of Jaemin posing in an oldies Golf club attire or smiling over a tub of caviar that stand proud beside it— is woefully enhanced by Jeno's stupid 20/20 tunnel vision.

The storm engulfs the city, cruel and unrelenting that Jeno starts to think the lightning's after him, striking after the feeling that drowns out his relief. Heaviness clouds his burdened chest. His heart beats louder than the thrums of rain, despite it all.

This was it.

This was what he had awaiting him at the end of every single day. The heartbreak, the hopelessness. The impotence and the agony. The dreadful blow that topples over his everything. It's unfair, how so, so many people are given the liberty to put up a fight for what they deserve, because that's how it's supposed to be— isn't it? Through effort, through _want_ , shouldn't anything— literally anything in the world— finally be possible? Shouldn't he be capable of flipping the planets over if he'd wished for it enough? But no— _God no,_ that's just aggravating, and that isn't even what bothers him. The truth is, he's furious, and he's terrified, and he's miserable, because he asks himself, is there a single thing in his wretched life that'll ever go his _fucking_ way?

But he's been there before. And he _knows_ the answer. It's exactly why he tells himself that how much he wants something isn't what matters. He could never reverse things. It won't be soon until he's doing nothing but looking back at the greatest thing he'll ever have. The same thing he'd destroyed for a stupid kiss.

Jeno looks down at the clear view from his balcony, scanning through the busy road as he treks through his anguish. A two-story drop wouldn’t do anything more than break his ankle.

☆☆☆

He shows up the next day on set with a shitstorm trailing after him.

As reasonable as shitstorms could get, Jeno's had just about enough of this one already, because, accurately enough, he could say this wasn't anything like the shit he's braved before.

It's a little bit like something he's read in a book— about storms and personal wars and people. Jeno wasn't coming back from this stronger than he's ever been, although he has before (and he flaunts that fact with obnoxious, off-putting nihilism, says, _I went through several crippling breakdowns in the span of two hours and all I got was this stupid shirt)_. It's different now, only because he knows there's no way out when, one way or another, he's put himself there in the first place. And it's not like he really wants a way out. It's just that he'd be wishing he could at least be dead by the end of it, at best.

But Jaemin shows up on set worse, and figuratively, he _had_ been worse— it's like, even with or without the drugs, all he ever knew was keeping it in, imploding, and the ironic thing about that is that no matter how hard he tries to hold himself together, anyone could just take one look at him and _know._ He dons his regrets with such dejecting acceptance, deals with this disaster for a life and the occasional brain rot like it's a 9-to-5. It's hard not to think it came as the inevitable consequence of all the things Jaemin had wanted to do with his life, but it's even harder not to feel bad, because it could've gone better— and it didn't.

On that afternoon, they shoot the final scene of the film.

It wasn't until Renjun had bothered him with the details that Jeno finally retrieved some overbearing semblance of care. Mostly, he doesn't. Mostly, he's just dizzy, quite braindead. But mostly he's just trying to watch through Jaemin's last scene without instilling some form of public, cathartic damage, or rolling to the floor and breaking down— because there was something else to cry about than a stupid film shooting being over, and it's that he and Jaemin were.

"How do you want this to go?" From a distance, the director finally says, clapping his hands together in a signal of inquiry. "What about we test it out first?"

Yukhei and Jaemin peek up. They're sitting together, situated in one corner of a twin-sized bed. It's a miracle Jeno knows how this scene goes; in a dimly lit bedroom setting, two boys shuffling happily between a pile of blankets, it's almost always a kiss. Renjun's going to think he's angered because of this, and then Jeno's going to think it's only because Renjun has it harder. Neither are really lies.

"I have a suggestion, actually." Jaemin unexpectedly beams. It already feels off, laced with contempt. "We could shoot the kiss, like, in the literal open— instead of in a room."

There's a long pause of disagreement in the set, but Jaemin remains unfazed. It's that, or he just doesn't really give a shit. Jeno feels an arrow-like gaze stab his back, and that's when he knows he should be listening.

"What." Yukhei irritably lets out a pointed cough. "I don't think we should. It's cloudy out."

"Better." Jaemin honest to God hollers— he's messing with Jeno. _Fuck. He's messing with me._ "You can pull up with something cheesy and say, _Valmer, your lips are my sunshine."_

"I-is that— is that what you want me to do?" Yukhei doesn't even hold back from cringing. He just looks done with Jaemin, because it's clear it's all for show. "What the fuck do you want me to do, man?"

"Just imagine it— the perfect setting for a perfect kiss." He coos for a moment, waxing poetic in the most enraged way possible. "And then the whole thing takes a complete left turn and everything goes to shit."

Yukhei whistles watchfully, his brow automatically raising. "Someone's cranky again." He points out with much fervor. "Lose your shit much?"

"Try dealing with an absolute fucking wuss, _Ferrier,"_ Jaemin only says, and for a second he pauses, like he wants for it to sting as bad as he's making the whole thing out to be. "Maybe you'll get why."

Jeno heaves in a sigh of distress, the consistent waves of pressure inevitably getting to his head. All he's wanted for the whole day was for shit not to go down— he can't hurt Jaemin any more than he has, but once the other shoe had dropped, he knew he couldn't turn back.

"You're being ridiculous." He foolishly yells.

The whole set grows even quieter, almost like they're in a blip of empty, abyssal space.

"Uh, what?" Renjun mumbles beside Jeno, completely unaware. The look on his face is the only thing that's keeping Jeno from ultimately freaking it and entertaining Jaemin's bullshit, and he can't deny it doesn't really count for much, because he's _this_ close—

—and Jaemin's _fucking_ relentless. They're meters away, but he groans like they're the only people in the room. "Right, some asshole stood me up, left me hanging, and _I'm_ being ridiculous?"

"Things take time, and answers, you know?" What goes on in the set has left his consciousness completely, leaving Jeno no room to think this through— it was either he was going to shut up or he was going to slap Jaemin with the truth. And he _knew_ what he wanted to do. "This would be so much easier if you didn't think everything was fight or flight."

"What are you saying?" Renjun narrows his eyes at him and leans closer to whisper, confused.

Jaemin lets out the loudest scoff with his retort, making sure Jeno doesn't only _hear_ what he has to say. "I don't think everything's fight or flight— I just think if something's fucking right in front of me, it's fucking stupid to still think about running away."

They're at a considerable distance from each other, but the tension doubles enough to trouble them with a meddlesome crowd. It makes it harder for Jeno to look, but it somehow pulls him further away from backing out.

He takes a deep breath and pumps his hand against his chest. "Turning back doesn't always mean running away—"

Jaemin's voice rings impossibly louder. "But it does."

"For a second, did you even think about why I did?" Jeno shouts, and feels his mind practically stir him to look at Jaemin, but he can't. God, he fucking _can't._ "It's not because I hated you—"

"You're scared of me." His voice falters, and by then Jeno knows he's looking away.

"I was scared, but I wasn't— scared of you."

"That doesn't change a damn thing!" Jaemin says, hints of hidden defeat slipping incredulously through his tone. "You're just— a _coward."_

"Don't saddle me with shit I already know about myself. I know I was wrong, and I couldn't just—" Jaemin doesn't even let him finish before letting out an audible chortle, and it ticks Jeno off. "But it's like you can't even stand being real about this."

He grumbles. "Oh, you don't want to think about what you're staking here so you try and tell me what I want?"

"I don't know what you want—" and it hits him then. He _doesn't_ know. And he _doesn't_ care. He's stopped trying to figure it out, for both of their sakes. Jeno's shoulders fall in sudden realization, and the silence oscillates long enough for him to mumble, "Is _that_ why we're fighting?"

 _Bingo._ Jaemin quakes, the backwash evident in his voice. In his vulnerability, the only thing he manages to heave out is, "Fuck off, Jeno—"

"Because you think I know what you should want?" Jeno sure as hell _won't_ fuck off, not when he's got Jaemin cowering in a defenseless corner. He can't help that he knows it's a place Jaemin needs to be in right now. "Because you _don't?"_

Jaemin finally lets up, his conscience pushed to an ebb. Jeno lifts his head straight only to find that Jaemin's looking back at him now, his cheeks flushed from restraint and his eyes red-rimmed.

"You left me in the rain." He scowls, dwindling in torment as the tears finally trickle down his cheeks.

"Yeah— but we were right in front of your apartment building." Jeno says, pacing closer and closer in heated, heavy steps. "I didn't leave you in fucking _make-out mountain,_ or Kansas, or something—"

Jaemin flings his arms over his chest in anger, shouting as he shoves his body forward, "That wasn't my point, _dick!"_

"I know what you have to say—" he reasons out, aggravated, furious, but most of all frenzied. "And, like— fuck— I know it's going to hurt. It beats the shit out of me already. My heart's laid out dry under the sun like a dying goldfish, or whatever. But I'm _not_ the richest man in the world. Heartbreak isn't really worth losing a stable job right now."

Jaemin huffs like a brat, his whole body on the brink of losing control. They're about four tantalizing inches apart now, their veins threatening to burst at any given moment. "Well, if you'd let me talk—"

"—Even if it's bound to crush my heart—"

"—And actually say I _wanted_ you to _kiss_ me that night—"

Jeno's eyes widen. Soon enough, even his body freezes stiff.

He mumbles, hard-eyed. "You _what?"_

 _"Yes_ , I did! And obviously, I still do." Jaemin mutters, and in a flash of candid honesty, he looks like he's actually hurt. "Kissing in the rain is stupid— but so is dancing in the rain when there's, like, thirty people who're going to recognize you within a 4-second interval. It's disgustingly cliché, but maybe I don't care if I made it to the news, or if I just didn't fuck around to get you to realize at all. The point is, Jeno— I want you to—"

"What?" Jeno beams unsurely, gazing up to eye the small glimmer of hope in Jaemin's eyes just right before it dissipates. "Do it again?"

"Do it again," Jaemin repeats, and he breathes in and takes one step closer; the final blow. _"Or I will."_

 _"Fuck."_ Jeno almost thinks he said that. When he slowly turns his head to the right, Renjun yelps out, fake-vomiting. "I'm going to hurl."

"That was good content," Yukhei claps loudly and obnoxiously, eyes twinkling in a fit of tears while his jaw is left agape. "Damn, Jaemin. Where's your _Oscar?"_

Jeno just stands there, speechless. Jaemin can't possibly be that close— he's practically stealing the air out of Jeno's lungs, but what's Jeno left to do? Stand there? If he'd been braver, he'd be kissing the daylights out of Jaemin already. But more than the striking thought of that, there's something else that clouds his thought process, and it's the farthest thing from something good.

He gulps and falters, and Jaemin catches this. Suddenly, his shoulders are falling slack, he's sighing and sniffing and pacing backwards and Jeno tries to hold his gaze, tries to keep him still, and then it's back— he's scared again, and he's either going to miss out on a chance that's dangling right in front of him or lose it anyway.

"Look," Renjun speaks again, tries hard enough to be threatening, his eyes twitching in a wonky attempt at a death glare. "You two need to take this elsewhere, I think."

Jaemin pauses in his tracks, looks around in a shuffle. "But— my scene—"

"Oh, Christ. _Now_ you care about your job?" Renjun scoffs. "Just get out for, like, two minutes, please. And let us breathe, for God's sake?"

Jeno doesn't wait for Jaemin to ruthlessly throw out another retort. He only paces forward, taps Jaemin meekly by the wrist before he grips it fully. Jaemin stifles a whimper in shock, following slowly as Jeno walks and leads the both of them out to talk about their problems on more private terms. He can figure out where they're supposed to be later. Right now, he wants to clear the air, and only God knows how long that'll take, but Jeno's not one to budge in the presence of resolution.

In a fit of haste, Jaemin mumbles as he continues padding on his feet, his legs giving out like jelly. They're in the hall leading to the parking lot exit, the area empty and hush. "Jeno," he says, softly, sniffling and sobbing despite himself in a way where there's no rhyme or reason. "For all it's worth, I really, _really_ like you."

It's all it takes for Jeno to stop walking just to look back and stare.

Jeno sighs heavily, the pressure surging back. "Well, I like you too. But I have random bouts of negative metacognition, and severe trust issues with the universe," Jaemin nearly sneaks in a response, but Jeno soon continues, "And a pre-existing self-worth problem,"

Jaemin just grins, sadly and apologetically. "Make that two of us, sweetheart."

He gets the sense that Jaemin might still be angry, or not— he's just overwhelmed. Jeno actually tests the waters, tentatively stretching his hand forward so he could reach for Jaemin's cheek. Jaemin doesn't shy away, and although for a moment his jaw shakes, it starts growing still.

Jeno looks up, holds Jaemin's gaze and whispers, "Are we talking about this?"

Jaemin stares back and holds in a nervous breath. His eyes glimmer different, brighter.

"Yes." He says. "We're talking about this."

☆☆☆

They find themselves cooped up in Jeno's car, about an hour or so later, in the parking lot of a shady gas station convenience store.

Knowing it's too soon, and that they can't risk being in each other's faces just yet, Jeno woefully takes the initiative to impulsively buy snacks to calm down while Jaemin takes his own time to do the same in his own weird way, which is apparently shuffling through random sports commentaries in the radio until he finds one he can shout louder over. From the curb by the storefront where Jeno had been lingering, the world is dwindling in haze, and the sun has only started to set, ideally enveloping them in a film of candid vulnerability.

Jeno's only slightly certain that he's moved on from his untimely nervous streak, but he crawls back into the driver's seat cautiously anyway, his empathy the only thing stopping him from backing down. "This isn't worth much." He says to Jaemin in greeting, slowly handing him an open bag of gummy worms and chips. Jaemin's eyes light up quick as he rummages through the contents, his dainty hands adamant to find something decent to eat.

"Thanks." He chuckles lightly, eyeing the crumpled, semi-open packaging of his favorite _Cheetos_ flavor that Jeno so courteously bought for him on their way back to the film set, although going back is still mostly under negotiation, because neither of them think they can stomach showing their faces back there after all the shit they've pulled.

"Alright, just so you know," Jeno croaks out in an indication of sincerity, but Jaemin immediately disrupts him.

"Jeno, first of all, I'm not worth half the amount of worship that you think I do." He says, awkward and flustered— quite unusual for anyone who's famous enough to be on his level.

"Nope," Jeno smiles a little, Cheeto bits scattered all over his lips and his fingers. "Believe me. You're actually worth more than that."

"Oh, Lord." Distressed, Jaemin sighs to himself. "I can't talk about this shit sober."

He blinks in confusion. "What?"

"You think about me too much." He blurts out. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing—"

Jeno shakes. "I didn't mean to _offend_ you."

"It wasn't—" he huffs, his brows furrowing together. "It wasn't offensive as much as it's pressuring the fuck out of me to be something I'm not."

"Does it even matter what I say, Jaemin?" Jeno huffs, feeling frenzied now that everything's set on reverse. He should be the one worried that Jaemin likes him, worried about what this could mean for the both of them and worried about everything else the world's about to make their lives hell for. He's still supposed to be the one who's terrified they'll never be good enough, and _yet._ "In case it hasn't occurred to you, your face is, I briefly estimate, in like a hundred billboards in front of my apartment building alone. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who thinks about you that much, so why the fuck does it matter?"

"Because it's you, Jeno." He stammers. "And— contrary to what you think, which is fucked up, by the way, I actually care what you think about me, and like fuck I can just believe it's all _that—"_

"But that really is what I think about you." Jeno croaks patiently, reaching over to squeeze Jaemin's hand tight. "You're like a star—"

"Yeah," he scoffs bitterly. "I'm one in a million—"

"But you're the only one I see."

Jaemin's shoulders fall even as he blushes. He looks more nervous than ever.

"No," he shakes his head and looks away. "Don't tell me this,"

Silence re-engulfs them, and right now, Jeno can't stand it. He wishes this was easier, but for what it's worth, he reaches forward and does the work, wraps his arms over Jaemin's trembling shoulders and pulls him close as he whispers, "What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

Jaemin suddenly flinches in Jeno's hold, but he doesn't pull back. He heaves slowly into the embrace, his nerves pumping down and his body slackening. "Alright," He fake-ponders, pursing his lips near Jeno's ear, where his voice is muted low. "Give me a list of three things you can't do,"

"Okay." He nods along slowly.

"Then do all of them." Jaemin says. _"Tonight."_

Jeno can't help but grin at that, despite his worries. His mind races in fascination, knowing full well that there was no rush, that he's practically had it all planned out. "Do I tell you what's on the list?"

Jaemin just hums, loosens in Jeno's hold even more. "Later."

When they pull back, Jeno sheepishly repositions himself against his seat, his head landing snug over the headrest as he lets out a childish whine of discontent. He lets his hands fall over and grip the steering wheel, and soon enough, he drives with the clearest destination in mind.

It's a short journey through the expressway, in a relatively small town just about an hour or two away from the overwhelming blitz of the city. The stretch of houses that encompass them as Jeno travels through the small lanes of asphalt are still familiar, even if he hasn't returned here for a couple of years. He grew up to know his own neighborhood like it was the back of his hand, so it all comes to no surprise— the nostalgia, the yearning, and the general ease and renewed vigor that washes over him whenever he looks around and takes everything in again.

By the time they finally exit memory lane and drive somewhat nearer to the place Jeno's thinking of, the sky has already gotten dark. Jeno takes his time swerving the car over and around the vicinity of his old school district— through rows and rows of chain link fences, tacky bulletin boards, trees with needless posters plastered on posters across them— right before he pulls to a stop at the high school building's parking lot.

As soon as he parks and keys the engine off, Jaemin bolts himself out through the door to take a breather.

"That was awkward," Jaemin confesses the moment Jeno gets out of the car. "Too awkward."

Jeno raises a brow in confusion, his eyes gazing around in more heaps of wistfulness. "What was?"

"The ride." He huffs, nudging Jeno cutely. "You could've at least turned the radio on if you could survive that long without initiating a conversation, you asshole."

"The last time I turned the radio on, shit went down." He lets out a chuckle with his sarcastic shrug. "I wasn't going to risk it."

 _"Loser."_ Jaemin rolls his eyes, finally relaxed enough to acknowledge the real question, which so obviously happened to be, "Where the fuck are we?"

"Look. Here. Come with me." Jeno gestures his head sideways, proving their journey far from over. With much hesitance on Jaemin's behalf, he leads them to a remote area right beside the field of the vast school grounds, a small opening through the untrimmed bushes revealing a barren children's park. Jeno runs over the clearing, his sneakers burrowing flat against the familiarity of grass and sand as he shifts his head from left to right. His eyes zero in at the sight of the bulky playhouse, rusty and timeworn. He looks back at Jaemin and points, _"There."_

Jaemin's mouth busts open in a sound that's both a gasp and a guffaw. "You're kidding."

"You wish." Jeno says, excitedly sprinting forward. As he comes nearer, he steels himself, his strength easily carrying him through the monkey bars, his feet just short of touching the ground as he hoists his body up for leverage. He lands on the other side of the playhouse where there's a dim, shabby crawlspace, which is large enough for the both of them to fit into but small enough for it to still feel just a tad bit intimate. He scoots his way in and spreads his hand out for Jaemin to grab as he follows, and when they're finally inside, reasonably squeezed against each other's bodies, they both let out a sigh.

When Jaemin frets, he asks, "This is..?"

"Number one on my list." Jeno heaves out, firmly. "I can't, uh, take you anywhere nice."

Jaemin looks around in contemplation, surveying his surroundings. "So how is this nice?"

"I used to hide here, as a kid." He explains as soon as he folds his knees close. He holds his hands up to make childish gestures, enraptured by the amusement in Jaemin's eyes. "I didn't have a lot of friends, obviously. So having a place I could call my own really meant a lot to me."

"Jeno," Jaemin mumbles, leaning close, looking at Jeno like he didn't want to believe a memory so innocent could ever get bad. He halts when Jeno speaks again, humming against his hands like he's apparently not finished.

"And then there was that one night in 10th grade. The last time I've ever gone back here in years." Jeno continues, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I took a girl out for prom that year, and then we danced all night and got drunk off the punch, but then she tried to kiss me, and I bashed her in the face." _You what,_ Jaemin whispers, and then Jeno laughs. "It was then that I knew I was gay. And I cried all the way here and tried to kiss the pain out of my knuckles until morning came. And I went back home with blood over my tux like it was nothing."

"No one knew a thing?" Jaemin can only stare in an odd mix of pity and endearment. "Honestly, that's—"

Jeno shakes his head. "Enough about me."

Jaemin looks like he begs to differ, but instead he pinches his lips tight and huffs. " _Fine._ Get on with the list."

"I— can't buy you anything expensive, or decent." He shoves his hand down his front pocket and pulls out the knitted bunny keychain from last night. It's caught on to a pile of lint from his pants. Humiliated, Jeno slowly tugs the lint away. "My friend knits. And he wants you to have this."

Jaemin glances down again, eyes blown bright in obvious awe. He quickly hooks the keyring over his finger and holds it against the sparse beams of light from the nearby lampposts. "He wants me to have this?" He beams, giggling.

"Yes, I mean— no." Jeno double-takes. "I want you to have this."

"This is— sweet." Jaemin says, sounding genuine. "Really, I—"

"It's not much." Jeno says.

"It doesn't need to be, Jeno." He shakes his head. "I mean, do I have to throw out my shit again for you to, like, pipe down? Haven't I made that much clear?"

"Yes." He responds blankly. "Right." Jeno thinks back to some time around a month ago, when lo and behold, seeing Jaemin capriciously discarding a whole stash of luxuries was still something that instilled some sort of fear in him. It's weird that it's suddenly not weird, that it just makes sense like it's normal now.

"Stop thinking about it, please," Jaemin gushes with a pout, gesturing along for Jeno to continue. His hands hover near Jeno's, his pinky held out to nothingness, terrified of closing the gap. "Just— go on, Jeno. I'm listening."

"I can't—" he croaks, breathing heavy like his life is on the line. Jaemin looks at him, egging him on. "I can't— um, _have you."_

And then Jaemin stares, slapshocked, stupefied. He actually looks like he wants this to be a joke, for a moment. "No." He chuckles nervously. "You don't actually mean that—"

"But I do, Jaemin." He shivers in reiteration. "When I kissed you, all I could think of was all of the times I'd screw this over, and that's nothing different. I think about being a screw-up more times than I don't— and it's like. I hold my heart out and the universe shits out this one thing and says, _here, you can have this,_ and suddenly I just don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I want things, and then suddenly I don't." Jaemin winces against him, his own face contorting in sadness. Jeno only shakes his head, holding back his own tears. "But all this time— you've been _so—_ you just stand there and look at me and _smile_ and I— I don't know why I know that you're the one thing in this world I can't afford to lose."

"So why are you running away? _Why?"_ He senselessly clasps Jeno's hand then, his fingers visibly shaking. "Is it because you thought I was too good for you?"

"Yes, and no." He grips back tight and shuts his eyes, his head falling against Jaemin's shoulders. He can't hear himself when he mumbles, "It's because I didn't know I could want something _this_ bad."

All of a sudden, Jaemin chokes back a sob.

For a moment, a deafening quiet looms over them, the kind of gloom where the only thing Jeno can make out is the sound of Jaemin's restrained sniffling. They melt against each other, helpless and defenseless all at once, and Jeno knows of nothing more terrifying and relieving. When Jaemin lets up, he cries against his hands, his tears sloping through the wet gaps between his fingers. "I didn't want to be wrong about this, too." He tells Jeno, raw and candid— this was as true as he was ever going to get about something that clearly still haunts him. "I didn't want to be wrong about letting you in."

Jaemin never received a verbal response. Instead, what he gets is Jeno creeping over his side, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, every vulnerable inch of space that lies in between. They teeter still in their small bubble, sapping each other's warmth as they bask in the moment to stop and realize that even their demons grow tired, even the fear dies down, and even the misery goes away. They have each other, and between all their nothings, their somethings and their everythings, _this,_ what they have, will still matter most.

Jaemin slowly breathes back to calmness, shuffling up to plant a soft peck against Jeno's lips. "I don't want to go back." He says, sounding meek and serene, like he's been stripped off of some heavy burden. "Take me home, okay?"

Blushing, Jeno's face sinks, because if Jaemin doesn't want him tonight, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. "Home?"

He nods his head, nuzzling his face against Jeno's neck and grinning. He hugs Jeno even closer when he says, "In your bed, in your arms—"

_Home._

Jeno breathes too fast, moves too fast and eventually even drives too fast, the rest of the world lagging to catch up to the beat of his heart.

Back in the road where every signal blares, his mind rings around the edges in anticipation, and Jaemin's similar frazzlement does both too much and too little to help him. One moment, he's thinking of a place somewhere up ahead, somewhere fast and forward, way too far into the future— in some figurative alleyway in a distant phase of the moon, with Jaemin smiling ahead of him. In the next moment he's back where he is, cars and road signs surrounding them, with Jaemin's hand pinching and lingering over his trembling leg, every stroke of his calming fingers singing _, it's just you and me, you and I, you and I,_ as he blasts his way out of the quiet, dizzying streets.

Anywhere he is now wouldn't ever be the same without Jaemin right beside him, keeping him solid, grounded— and like all good things, tonight was fleeting.

Jeno fears he won't be able to hold the seconds between his fingers anymore.

☆☆☆

It's honestly expected, how they don't even _make_ it.

Time rises like a friendly competition, teasing and ticking and taunting them until Jeno's swerving through the driveway of a cheap hotel he's too dazed to even remember the name of. He couldn't help but saddle himself with some sense of alarming debauchery, because Jaemin's a naughty, wanton bitch who knows way too many things to do with his hands, and somehow his fingers have ended up closer to Jeno's clothed crotch than they should've been.

In all consciousness, Jeno knew the prospect of driving all the way home was just waiting to get thrown out of the window, and he had _this_ much of an option to realize neither of them would actually mind.

In the reasonably dim hotel lobby, he nearly trips on his own feet, twice, but not because he couldn't see shit. For both of these instances, Jaemin doesn't even do anything but laugh amidst his own persistent desperation. He grows more sensual by the second, and Jeno can't suffer through the boyish longing any longer, because he's too certain he'll sink into the floor and _literally_ explode if he doesn't get his hands on Jaemin tonight.

He dings the bell on the counter one too many times, and adamantly snarls at the receptionist for no clear reason, except for the fact that she'd been knowingly staring at Jaemin like she was about to say, "Wait. Weren't you the guy in that sexy high school hacker movie?"

It takes Jeno a stunted pause to realize that wasn't just a voice in his head anymore, because Jaemin freezes still, ridiculously contorting his face into something more unrecognizable— like it was really even going to work.

"No," he waves her off with much urgency. "But I was in a toothpaste commercial when I was, like, twelve."

"Oh, that's— nevermind." She says, like she's lost any further interest. She hands them a key card as she starts shriveling back in her seat. Before Jeno can grab it from the counter, Jaemin swiftly snatches it away, and he starts sprinting to the hallway elevator, pressing the door button close before Jeno can even make it.

Jeno clicks his tongue before making an impulsive turn to the other side of the lobby, squeezing himself onto the 2nd row of elevators in a fit of warped irritation. Even so, his nerves are diluted by his own renewed intemperance, his thoughts of Jaemin sprawled out on the bed while he screams out Jeno's name getting the best of him.

Soon enough, they meet again, and they run and chase each other straight down the 3rd floor's depeopled hallway, the world spinning and the walls squeezing together in a dreamlike sequence as they thrive and breathe heavy in each other's spaces. Jaemin successfully swerves through the alley where their hotel room is, tapping the key card against the scanner with a hearty smirk— but Jeno's agile, skillfully sprinting near so that when Jaemin bursts through the door in haste, he's quick enough to brace his arms and pin his foot against the slight gap.

They stare for a moment, chuckling, until Jeno deems the joke over to forcefully nudge his body forward.

Jaemin pushes the door back, the knob jabbing against Jeno's hip. "Stay there." Grinning, he warns, threatening to jam the door against Jeno's foot. Jeno looks down and gulps in fear for his innocent toes. He did _not_ douse himself with cologne samples in his car's dashboard cabinet for Jaemin to needlessly tire him like this.

"What?" He huffs, his brows furrowing as he tries his best to plead with his puppy eyes alone.

"Prep." He deadpans, smirking. "I need to get, you know _. Ready."_

"Really?" Jeno pouts incredulously. "Without me, though?"

Jaemin only says, "Be a good boy and wait." Before hastily pushing Jeno back and slamming the door on him. Left alone, he revels in the flickering of the hallway light and the concerned stares of the guests from across them. _Oh, fuck,_ he thinks as he flops to the ground in defeat, _this took a hellish turn._

He must look like an absolute dork now, knees on the carpet with his boner threatening to melt a hole over his briefs and break through his zipper and all. And Jaemin's just _loving_ this, because of course he is. He's going to act surprised when Jeno hammers the door down with sheer horniness and willpower and swoon against the mattress like he didn't see it coming, when in fact it's exactly what he wants Jeno to do. Too bad Jeno can't hulksmash his dick through a block of wood if he tried.

Instead, he attempts to form a truce by knocking on the door tentatively, pleading out and calling for Jaemin's name like a dog barking from its cage. He almost goes at it again, but not until he hears Jaemin straight-out moan from the other side of the door, and like hell if that doesn't go straight to his poor, neglected dick.

"Jaemin," Jeno says through gritted teeth, his nails digging against the door. He doesn't want to think of what Jaemin's busying himself with, lest he'll explode. "I _know_ you can hear me."

"You're no fun," Jaemin audibly pants, winces in a happy, dazed tone. The sound of sloppy fingers going in and out, _in and out_ , resound amidst the continuous streak of Jaemin's lustful whimpers. "If you want me so much, _ah,_ what's the rush? I'm right _here."_

"There's a fucking door between us." He heaves, his voice hoarse, all but begging for a sudden breakthrough. "Any other time you could've chosen to fucking neuter the shit out of me?"

"Oh, poor Jeno," He giggles, his gasping relentless. God, even his voice makes Jeno so fucking needy, and he goes on like he knows it gets Jeno hot. "Sucks for you, 'cause I have a feeling I'll _love_ it when you're riled up."

Jeno smirks then, his hand resting on the floor with a blam. "You don't want to learn that the hard way."

"Believe me." Jaemin hums sensually, as if in reiteration. He lets out another moan, louder and more laced with obvious arousal than the previous ones. _"I do."_

Jeno's going to burst.

He's positive about this. His dick is going to explode in his hands and someone's going to walk past and think, _damn, who edged this poor man right in the middle of a hotel hallway?_ With good reason. Seconds will pass in silence and Jaemin will burst out of the room to Jeno's limp body, and he'll cry and say sorry and say he didn't mean to be the sexiest man alive. And in Jeno's tombstone, courtesy of Donghyuck's galaxy brain, it will read, **CAUSE OF DEATH: GOT EDGED AND NEGLECTED SO GOOD HIS DICK ROCKETED TO MARS.** And he will never not think this isn't plausible, if somehow in reality Jaemin hadn't mercifully opened the door as soon as Jeno's brain stuttered into an obscene overdrive.

Jeno cuts off from his trance and finally looks up from where he'd been kneeling, his eyes blowing wide at the sight of Jaemin— slick, naked thighs, every curve of his body only barely concealed by the loose, long-sleeved shirt he's wearing at the moment. His chest heaves obviously, and his eyes are addled with desire. Jeno gulps, thinking about what it would be like if he'd floored Jaemin then.

"Wow," Jaemin muses, leaning his side against the wall as he narrows his eyes, making Jeno feel weak. "There you are, sweetheart."

"Here I am." Jeno mumbles breathlessly, shifting and standing up, staring Jaemin down as he looms over his body. "You ready?"

"Please, yes, _Jeno,"_ Jaemin nods and calls for him, in sheepish, whorish eagerness. When Jeno inches forward, Jaemin wraps his arms over his neck and pulls him taut. He mumbles, softly, _"Fuck_ me like you bought me with the room,"

Jeno doesn't think twice, carrying Jaemin over his arms to swiftly toss him against the bed, Jaemin flopping down and letting his head fall softly against the sheets with a high-pitched cry. He wriggles in desperation, spreads his bare legs even wider with the clang of Jeno's belt as they fall to the floor along with his pants and briefs. His shirt was meant to stay on, but with Jaemin's constant clawing, his fingers pulling on the faded fabric, he eventually had to lose it, too. Now, in all his naked glory, he gets to bask in the heaviness of Jaemin's stare, his gaze going lower and lower and his mouth drying out as he gives Jeno's dick a few spit-slick pumps— until eventually he gives out, biting his lips in astonishment. And _god,_ Jeno's never been one to feel invincible, but he would lie if he said this didn't make him feel like he was.

They have face-to-face sex, although something tells Jeno that Jaemin had opted to ride him, instead, but had been awestruck by Jeno's strength to even think of saying so. Jeno lifts up Jaemin's legs easily, lining his dick up against Jaemin's ass while Jaemin crudely plays with his nipples through his sweat-soaked shirt in anticipation. He tests how far he can go in one push, and when Jaemin gasps against him in shock, he immediately pulls back, like this is news to him.

"Shit," he stumbles deliriously, his eyes still glued over Jaemin's lanky frame. "Jaemin— I— I didn't mean for that to hurt—"

"It didn't. Oh my God, Jeno, don't— freak out. It's not you— it's. I had _spit_ for lube." He kind of giggles, the sound lost in translation over Jeno's malfunctioning nerves. "I love this, you're amazing— and, oh _God_ , fuck, I'm a whore for when it hurts. Just— ah, keep going, okay?"

Jeno nods, going for broke again. He holds his breath the second time and moves slow, every tantalizing inch of him that pushes its way inside making Jaemin's mouth gape wide in a silent keen. He bottoms out, heaving still— and then he starts to feel like a raw muscle, feels strong in a way where he revels over the sinews inside of Jaemin that drag and slide beneath his skin, and feels weak in a way where he's happy, where he knows he could be years past this experience and he'd probably still break.

"You're tight," Jeno tips his chin towards Jaemin's and rubs their cheeks together. He nuzzles his head over for a kiss, but Jaemin's truly too fucked out to even think of giving him one. He slides in faster and deeper with each passing thrust of arousal, every single moan Jaemin lets out, _right there, right there,_ pushing him to an undeniable brink. If he takes one look at Jaemin, he knows he's done for. His face right now would probably prove to be more than a sight to behold. _Ethereal,_ in all senses.

"Fuck, fuck. Jeno." Jaemin hisses in lust, his nails digging crescents over the skin on Jeno's back. Jeno doesn't let up, still, Jaemin's voice stirring his nerves with fervor. "It feels so good. _Fuck._ I'm so close."

"Me too." He shifts up then, eyes grounding dazedly on Jaemin's wracked up expression. Lips wide open, eyes tight shut, tears streaming in 5 different directions over his ruddish, blazing cheeks. He shakes in desperation constantly, and his voice starts growing throaty when Jeno slams against him even harder.

"Ah, _fuck_ — fuck it out of me, _please."_ He shouts, trembling in a fit of submissive neediness. "Make me cum."

They kiss softly when Jeno fucks him through it, relentless to a point where Jaemin grows breathless. Jaemin takes his shivering hands off of Jeno's neck to cup his face as he continues to thrust inside him, again and again and again until Jaemin's rolling his eyes back and seeing stars. He's soon sobbing incoherently, and it takes Jeno a few more jabs forward before they both cum, moaning each other's names in rhythmic unison— it's like music to their ears.

Jeno finally flops down in Jaemin's arms with a groan, his limbs worn out and sex-heavy.

There's a moment where they maybe black out, seconds spent catching their breaths, but even that does very little to calm down the pace of their hearts. Jaemin cringes despite himself; Jeno is still wedged inside of him, but he can already feel Jeno's cum gushing down and leaking out. He's pretty sure the load he blew was grand in proportion, too, soaking through his clothed chest, right between him and Jeno, like some gross adhesive that glues them together.

"Here, Jeno," Jaemin says after a while, when they've coddled down from their high, laid down on the bed side-to-side and face-to-face. Jeno lets out a confused noise, and he consciously looks down to where Jaemin had unknowingly slipped a ring on his finger. It flashes a vibrant blue-violet against the contrast of the plain white sheets. "I guess we're married."

Jeno laughs at the irony, burrowing over the mattress. "I guess we are." He sits up halfway and props his arms up against the sheets, posing his hands in a camera stance and pretending to hover it towards Jaemin. He narrows his fingers together and clicks his tongue like the sound of a snapshot, and then Jaemin chuckles.

"Look at us." Without budging, he smiles, looking at Jeno through the makeshift focal space he's made with his raised fingers. "It's just— we've come so far from you being my _Dior_ dumpster diver."

"If I'd known we'd end up being all of this anyway, I could've just slid over." He scoffs proudly, nodding to himself in an obvious display of sappiness. "And you know what I'd say? _I've got McD's on the trunk, you want some?"_

"Oh, please." Jaemin sneers meaningfully, rolling his eyes as he chuckles against the pillow. "Well, you know what? You could've stared me down once and I'd already be off my god damn feet."

They laugh in sync, their chests thumping loud in serenity. A few minutes spent tracing swirls and curves over rough knuckles pass along with an intimate exchange of whispered promises and giggles, and the thrilling rush that surrounds them soon dies down gradually. Jeno stares at Jaemin, tongue-tied, but the bright, toothy smile on Jaemin's face eases him enough for him to decide he can say what he's always wanted to say.

"Jaemin," he grins and whispers low, like it was as meaningful as a secret to spill. Jaemin looks up at him gleefully, clarity in his eyes. "You're a star."

And when he says that, he's not thinking of Hollywood. He's not thinking of the fame or the stardom. He's thinking of seeing Jaemin, eye-to-eye. He's thinking of boys in beds, shuffling under the blankets, their eyes glazed over with endeared desperation as they smile against each other's cheeks, because now they feel so cosmic and boundless, like stars, so, _so_ much bigger than the rest of the universe.

There's no answer that comes immediately, only the softness of Jaemin's small whimpers as he feels the words fall and linger warmly in the afterglow. When Jeno feels Jaemin start to tremble, he gathers him closer in his arms.

"I love you," Jaemin says, kisses him before anything else, and then he says it again, the words warm when they flow through Jeno's lips. "I love you. _I love you."_ It folds against him like a wash of breath, fogs of relief finally filling the air.

Jeno doesn't want to sleep, not then, because everything else has only started to feel like it's awake.

The visions that lull him to the realm of his imagination manage to mesh together in a streak of blurring memories, and it's more than they manage to keep him alert. His eyes prance and snap open despite the troublesome need for some shut-eye, and in his daze, he daydreams of matching wristwatches, of violets and blues splattering like paint over fast food trays, cheesy songs resounding through the intercom as they dance like they're in a movie he's watched in his sofa from months ago, bleak but meaningful in the sequence of passing moments. It all plays out in a time where he didn't know better, when he hadn't hoped and wished and chased for anything different, because he had never wanted anything more.

But in the end, he only ever remembers thinking— on that first day of filming, when he watched Jaemin walk into the studio and subsequently into his life: _Right there, that boy—_

Jeno holds on tight to this, because this is why he stayed. This is what he fought for, what he never wanted to lose. He smiles sheepishly against Jaemin's knuckles as he stares back and finally shuts his eyes, just to feel those words burn bright in his chest again, for now and for always.

_He looks just like my happy ending._

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and feedback r much much MUCH appreciated!! the comment section is a safe space for anything, yes even unprompted keysmashes,, but for real!!! talk to me! scream into the oblivion! find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RETROJENS) !!! love u all <33333


End file.
